Light of the Towering Dark
by rhyejess
Summary: The tire irons never came for Jack, but they's not the only things can threaten a man's life. November rolls around and Jack's got some soberin' news for Ennis. Character Illness. Contact me privately if you need to know more about the fate of Jack.
1. Chapter 1: Hole Fillin'

Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no money off of them.

Thanks to my betas, Max and Sheera, and to everyone who has lent me a little courage to help me send my baby out into the world like this. I did some reseach, but I'm no medical doctor. I know this story deals with serious themes, and I in no way intend to trivialize them by fictionalizing them. Honest and respectful feedback of any kind is welcomed.

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Chapter 1: Hole Fillin' 

Jack was the expert on Saturday evening. He knew the routine: the bear hug, one drink, food, more whiskey, the risin' up, then down and out with the rising call of the great horned owl. They were still on the whiskey, Saturday night, and serious talk was off-limits. Jack knew that. _God_, he knew it. But he remembered their last time together and the fight they'd had, just because Ennis had kept his bad news to the last day-- savin' up all the bad for the worst possible moments, in that way he had. Jack knew everything was gonna be different this week, but that was no call for puttin' this off seven whole days, even God hisself knew that. They were sittin' in Jack's striped lawn chairs 'round a roaring fire. Ennis leaned down out a his chair to stoke the fire in that first-night way, doin' anything to pretend Jack wasn't there. He knew, though. Jack knew Ennis was pretending. If he let himself believe Jack were really there, Ennis would have ended up on top of Jack in a pile-drivin' heap of man and campground dust. Ennis didn't like ta lose control like that, though Jack wouldn'ta complained none. Never happened, though. Jack's man had some holy routines.

Leanin' back in the chair, Jack took a big sip a whiskey, big enough to burn all the way down, and in his stomach. But what the hell did it matter now? The night he'd found out, he and Randall'd gotten so shit-faced they couldn't hardly get it up later. Randall had cried like a baby, and then outdrunk Jack, beatin' him at his favorite Texas game, and when he shoulda been playin' at his peak. One hell of a time.

He watched the firelight dance on Ennis's face. _Better save some for 'im. Might need it more than me._ He felt for Ennis, perhaps more than he had in years, wondering how his man would take the news, if Randall was practically fallin' apart. Lureen was alright. She was always alright. She didn't say it, but he could tell she was already plannin' a big vacation for next year. _What the hell, I ain't jealous. Not of Lureen and her trip. Wish she'd go now and leave me be._ Lureen didn't mean nothin' by it. She jus' knew she couldn't change the future, and Jack didn't blame her for that. She'd go on livin'. Ennis, though? _Might hafta get another bottle out a night early._

This had ta be the hardest thing Jack ever said. Much harder than tellin' Randall, he had ta admit. Hadn't told his mama yet. Do that next week. But the moment the doc had shared those words, all technical yet somehow clear as day, and long before the meanin' a them had soaked into his brain, this was the moment he'd envisioned in his head: firelight, whiskey, Ennis, an' tryin' ta make his tongue move 'tween all them technical words to the truth of the matter. He'd been sick ta think on it. Still was. And fuck almighty, here it was.

"Friend, I gotta tell ya somethin', and it ain't any easier ta hear than it is ta say."

Ennis was sittin' back on his heels on the ground now, rearranging the rocks on the outside of the fire. No need-- fire wasn't goin' nowhere-- but that didn't never stop Ennis from solvin' problems as weren't even there. He looked up across the fire at Jack, golden curls seemed to be made of flames themselves, and Jack's nerve nearly burnt to brands in that fiery halo.

Ennis wasn't speakin', but the flames were workin' for him, the log-pile fallin' of a sudden into ashes and coals with flames tryin' to worm their way back ta some unburnt wood where they could do some good. Jack didn't wait ta see if they was able.

The fire just a reminder of dyin' and losin', Jack looked elsewhere for strength. None in the sky, none in his hands, took another swig of whiskey, but there weren't none in the bottle neither. The best he could do was Ennis's strong hands, salt of the earth, strong as stone. Ennis would move on; the man was made a stone, or so Jack told himself, knowin' no such thing. "Ennis... I ain't well."

"Mmm." Ennis nodded to the fire. "Do look like you lost a bit a weight there, bud. Wasn't gonna say nothin' since I thought maybe ya meant to..." He waved his hand in the air as if fishing for words.

"Mmm, no," Jack rubbed his fingers across his eyes. Shit this was hard. "I'm sick, Ennis."

"Some sorta stomach flu? I know a...a soup Alma used ta make for the girls? With garlic."

Jack's laugh came out more bitter than he wanted. "Nope." _This was a bitch already without fightin' the fuckin' stomach flu, too._ It wasn't like Ennis ta keep talking, but Jack knew he looked worse than Ennis was letting on. He was probably worried, had ta be. Better get this out fast, like pullin' off a band-aid, though no kind a band-aid could fix this one up.

"Doctors say I got some kinda cancer. In my kidney." There. It was done. This had been about the point where Randall'd started hittin' walls.

Jack met Ennis's eyes, feeling some courage stir within. He'd told a bunch of people already, but this was Ennis's first time hearing. Might be that Ennis needed his help now, of all things.

Ennis's dark eyes swam open, pupils dilated, and he sat back slowly on the ground opposite Jack, fire between them, sparks aflyin'. It wasn't the reaction Jack'd been expecting. Until Ennis's fell back onto the cold ground, his breath comin' hard, and he squeezed out a "_Christ_, Jack," from a rib cage that, from the sound of it, was tryin' a squeeze the life outta him.

Jack held strong, waitin' to see what Ennis would do. When Ennis's sobs started sudden and heavy, Jack couldn't just sit no more. He tried to pass the bottle across the inferno, but Ennis had gone blind, and even Jack couldn't tell what done it-grief, fury, somethin' else. His man weren't one to lay it out there. "Ennis... Ennisss," Jack tried, the name sizzling between his lips. "Goddamn it, 's alright. Ain't dyin'." He stood, moved three, four steps around the fire, and knelt next to the man whose sobs had turned into some sort a hushed keening, like chokin' on a harmonica. Ennis was tryin' a stop the sound, only making his breath come harder, his chest heaving in and out: weakness written all over a strong cowboy.

Jack leaned forward, not touchin' Ennis except for a whiskey bottle to the shoulder, snatched silent but firm. Ennis seemed to find some strength in the bottom a that bottle, sure enough, 'cause he used it to push Jack away from him. "Ain't funny, Jack."

"And I sure as hell ain't jokin'. Friend, this'd be one god-awful game ta play just ta make you drink my cheap whiskey." Jack's breath halted, not knowing what to expect now, thinking maybe a punch was in order for him. Hadn't been on the receivin' end of Ennis's right hook since the day they came down off a that mountain, but this didn' feel too differnt. Didn't never return there, still fallin' from those high plains. Jack didn't care to look down, not sure how close they were to the bottom; reckoned he knew, though. Didn't know if they were arrestin' the fall tonight, or takin' a detour off a higher cliff, or what. Maybe nothin'. Probably nothin', with Ennis. Just continue with life like it was. _I'm stuck with what I got here._ The words mocked him.

"Doc's gonna fix it, bud," Jack said to a stone-cold and silent Ennis, no punch landing, not that he was aware of, leastways.

"Oh yeah?" Ennis grunted, lookin' more angry than uncertain.

"Yeah, sure." Jack picked up a nearby kindlin' stick and tossed it into the fire, just to see it burn. "Just gonna..." threw another stick, "cut it out."

"Tha's all?"

"Man can live with one kidney. Have ta piss more or somethin'. I dunno. Maybe less. Think you could stand ta watch me piss less, Ennis?" It was a sorry excuse for a joke, but Ennis took it as a good one, noddin,' with a expression that mighta been a smile or grimace. Jack was offering an escape route, and Ennis was gladly accepting, always ready n' willin' for a good escape from a bad situation.

"Here, lemme at that." Jack swiped for the whiskey bottle.

Ennis held it away from Jack's reach.

"What in the hell, Ennis?"

"'S shit for yer health."

"An' you ain't my doctor."

"So why's it my job ta make sure you don't fuck yerself up, huh?"

Jack knew the answer to that, but Ennis wasn't really asking. Never would.

Ennis looked down, drew another ball of whiskey from the bottle and rolled it down into his gullet, pulled himself off the ground and went silent to the tent. Jack let him be for a little while, didn't know if he was meant to follow. If they didn't fuck tonight it'd be a first. Guessed he was in for a lot of them now. He'd lied a Ennis before, way you lie ta a child 'bout puttin' down their dog, not wantin' ta deal with tellin' them the truth. But he had a open up another bottle of whiskey and swallow hard to make the guilt glide down far 'nough he didn't taste it no more. Might not even be lyin', though, and no sense in tastin' the punishment before comittin' the crime.

Climbing into the cold, dark tent well after the owl had finished appetizer and main course, Jack wasn't expecting anything in particular, least of all the whimpering noises he hadn't heard since Bobby'd fallen off his bike as a boy. Ennis was sound asleep, but that weren't enough to stop the sense of fallin' for that man. As dead tired and weak as he felt, Jack stroked Ennis's golden-grey hair until he felt the whimperin' stop, frown etched deep under his mustache. Then Jack stroked a while longer, here an' there, wherever his hands or mouth were wantin', bringin' other whimperin' sounds. They were comin' down out of the skies themselves, it seemed, fallin', fallin' like everything else.

"Goddamn," Jack muttered against the warmth of Ennis's thigh.

"Meant it 'bout the doctor?" Ennis asked, full awake now, no choice in that, clinging to whatever of Jack he could reach, in this case a hip, and Jack felt the firm grip through his entire body. Jack leaned his head up, but the tent was too dark for an image ta form; the sliver moon had yet ta risen. Ennis was was askin' for truth, it seemed.

"Surgery's week after next, soon as I visit my ma."

"Hmm." Ennis's head nodded against Jack's inner thigh, and Jack knew he couldn't just let that be. Didn't reckon he owed Ennis much, but that sure's hell had never stopped him from givin' it ta Ennis before. Any man with his tear stains streakin' Jack Twist's inner thigh deserved the truth, and this wasn't even any man. This was Ennis. Deserved the truth the day he was born, just for being Ennis, no tears or inner thigh required (but given anyway, goddamn. More than once Jack thought back to the nights on Brokeback he'd stroked himself to sleep at the thoughts of Ennis, knowin' beyond all ability, more'n he believed in God above, that man wouldn't _never_ be his. Jack Twist had learned young he didn't know nothin' 'bout knowin'.)

Ennis _did_ deserve the truth, but Ennis deserved the happiness too. They was always one or the other. What kind a life were they leadin' that the two never did fit. Nothin' never fit. Like Jack an' Ennis, don't fit in any real world made a real people, just in fantasy lands that existed 'tween sex and the risin' crescent moon.

Jack fumbled in the dark for his smokes, kickin' Ennis in the head by accident.

"Hey now." Ennis's tone was more tender than usual.

Jack laughed down inta his belly, findin' the pack and lighting two smokes. Ennis uncoiled full-length onto his back, staring at the overhead vent of Jack's fancy tent, and Jack turned to follow his gaze after passin' him the smoke, head to ankle both. They hadn't put no rain fly up yet, an' the stars were clear like livin' fire, lightin' up a world only they knew.

"Ennis, tell you what..." Cigarette smoke leaked like a ghost into the tent air, uncoiling from Jack's mouth. "Doctor don't think it's so simple."

"How's'at?" Ennis's voice sounded thickened already, warning written all over his barely-a-word.

"They take out my kidney, mebbe it'll all be fine. Can't find no cancer nowhere else right now. But the doctor, Myers's his name-- he says it looks pretty bad. Shows up somewhere else, won't be so easy ta just cut out." Jack took a long, unsteady drag. "Have ta do the chemo and mebbe radiation anyway? Tell you what, that shit scares the bejesus outta me, Ennis." Ennis gripped his shin, firm-on-firm. "I just don't know what the hell ta think." Jack's voice faded from the tent with a sigh and a drag.

Ennis lifted himself up and shifted so he was lying behind Jack, who was busy shivering with sweat and November cold. Soon Ennis was warming him the way Ennis knew best, body an' blanket. He was strokin' the whimperin' out of Jack, though it were whimperin' invisible, inside only, and that's where the strokin' was, too. But then, Ennis always did cut to the chase, knew how to stroke on the inside where no one else had seen nor felt, not even Randall. Jus' knew the path ta that hole gapin' inside Jack that only he could fill, no instruction manual needed. Jack hadn't even known how badly he was needin' it, but he snatched his first peaceful sleep in weeks wrapped in those weather-worn arms.

At first he thought, or maybe hoped, it was the great horned owl and a cigarette lighter that woke him, but it was the lark and the burning day, and he didn't understand how he could mistake the fact. The bedroll next to him was stark naked, and Jack wouldn't even have conceived of pretendin' he didn't feel a wave of disappointment down to all the holes he had, including both that had been filled by Ennis last night, the one not physical. It ached more than the other, but it was an ache seldom filled, and he clamored into his dirty clothes and staggered from the dawn tent.

The fire was roarin', and Ennis was toiling around it. He didn't even acknowledge Jack, but he sure as hell was humming a little under his breath. Jack thought his face might explode, and was pretty glad no one was watching him smile. Sometimes he was embarrassed by his smiles, always feelin' like people thought they had some fishy meanin', but with Ennis he didn't never hold back a smile. Not never, no matter what it might earn him. Held back those painful truths, though. Jack was of a mind to let 'em out, too, this week. It was a thought to erase the boldest smile, and it worked as well on his.

Ennis spun around, handing a blue-and-white-flecked camp plate to Jack, overflowin' with eggs, a stone biscuit, bacon, grits, and home fries. "Jesus, Ennis." It was all Jack could say.

"Gotta put some weight back on."

"Yeah, well, all this'll give me diarrhea, and then some fun I'll be this week."

Ennis shrugged. "Risk I'll take."

Jack pointed playfully at him, moving to sit down by the fire. "You don't mean that, friend."

Ennis shrugged again, but all he said was, "you feelin' strong enough ta ride?"

"Ain't dead yet." Jack winced at his words, immediately regretting them. "Yeah, I c'n ride."

"Got somethin' ta show you."

Jack started shoveling food into his mouth, and had to admit it was pretty tasty and hit some spot. Ennis was all about hittin' the right ones this trip, it seemed. Jack was mighty grateful for that. Especially that one hole couldn't nothin' else fill, and Ennis didn't often try. He sometimes did it without tryin', but the times he was tryin' were somethin' else. Jack's mind flickered to that dozy embrace years before, the first time that hole had filled to the brim and overflowin', and without even knowin' he was doin' it, his hand reached out to brush Ennis's leg where the jeans hugged the knee.

"You bringin' some other fella up here, learnin' the sights?" Jack winced once again at his own words. Damn he was on a hell-bent roll this a.m., lettin' all his own hurtin' secrets spill in jabs at Ennis.

Ennis shrugged. "'Member not the last time we was here, but the time before? I went off, n', well, I'll show ya." He didn't move away from Jack's touch for a moment, reachin' down ta tap Jack on the shoulder, gentle-like, like the lark song, before headin' off ta saddle up the horses. Both of 'em. Jack's too.

Jack's energy failed him before he finished the meal, tryin' to fool them both 'bout how crappy he felt, though he didn't think it was the cancer. He just really hadn't been eatin' well with nerves, nor sleepin' well with restless nights, and it was nothin' one night and one breakfast could undo. Ennis didn't ask, didn't say nothin', didn't poke fun, just silently rolled a stump next to Rufus, his grey-black gelding, as a makeshift mounting block for a man as had never needed nor used one. Jack was grateful Ennis didn't watch him mount. That lanky trunk of muscle swung himself up onto Olive, the flea-bitten grey mare who had foaled Rufus years ago, like it was no more effort than breathin'. Jack envied Ennis the strength and flexibility that had been his own not long ago. Told himself it wasn't nothin' a couple of Ennis's over-the-top meals and hole-fillin' sleeps couldn't fix in no time. Jack wouldn't be usin' that stump tomorrow, regardless. Even a dyin' man had ta have his pride. And Jack weren't dyin'. Not no time soon, leastways.

The ride was bumpy, but Rufus was gentle, though he'd taken a likin' to trotting up hills that Jack's full stomach didn't appreciate, but weren't nothin' he couldn't handle. He started by followin' Ennis close, but that never lasted long, Ennis findin' any little reason to slow up Olive, Jack lookin' for reasons to spur on Rufus. Before long, and neither would admit how, but both knew, their knees were brushin'. Ennis was always lookin' Jack's direction. Jack sometimes snuck looks back under dark eyelashes, but Ennis would just smile, or press his lips to keep from smilin', same exact thing to Jack, since what mattered was the emotions behind those lips.

The trail took a little dip through the trees, around a bend, and through a tiny stream bed. The horses stepped over some roots, Olive givin' a little trip. They clamored up a small hill, rocks stickin' out a dry dirt, Rufus trotting like an idiot, and stumblin' toward the top.

"Tell you what, Ennis, these horses might as well have fryin' pans for feet. Don't got no clue where they are."

"Better'n the horses you brought," Ennis answered with a smile. Jack smiled back at that, and the trail evened out into a grassy field, trees seemed 'bout a mile away on all other sides 'cept one, and that one seemed like the side dropped away, a straight fall down to the Wyomin' plains and the woe that lived there. Ennis spurred Olive ta a soft canter, but Rufus wouldn't do more'n that fastest trot Jack ever rode in his life, and he felt he was 'bout to come apart into a million pieces by the time they neared the overlook.

Jack didn't need a be told. Ennis was watchin' his expression with intention, but Jack was looking dead ahead. He dismounted without any trouble, feelin' suddenly nineteen again. He put his hands on his hips, shifting from foot to foot for a second. He felt Ennis's soft brown eyes takin' him in, and it would be a lie to say he didn't square off his shoulders and maybe flex a muscle or two for that man's vision.

"Holy fuck, you saw this last time?"

"Yup."

"Wasn't thinkin' a telling me?"

"Just did." Ennis was shifting from foot to foot, too, still watching Jack under a tawny hat brim.

The edge of the mountain really did roll off, a steep hill, rocky in places, grassy in places, to the plains below. Those woeful Wyomin' plains that stretched northwest between the mound a Earth he was standin' on, feelin' hardly a mountain by comparison, and the great sooty bulk a that mountain he would a known in his sleep. Slabs of somber malachite were risin' up to give a howdy to its sons across what musta been at least a hundred miles of woe. Jack had a wonder whether tumbling off this face would a brought him to rest at the base of that rocky body. Thinkin' on a life lived and ended on the end of an IV leash, in a stinkin' hospital bed, his hair fallin' out, or worse, his knees felt weak and he cursed himself for even bein' here and not _there_-- for ever agreein' to be here and not there. For ever agreein' to any of this campin' shit in the first place, Alma and Junior and Francine be damned. 'Cause they was all fine, and who the hell knew whether he would be fine or not.

But Jack caught his thoughts. He was a natural optimist, and couldn't fail himself now. Everything would be fine, and if he ever got a chance a go campin' with Ennis del Mar again, he was goin' a settle on Brokeback Mountain or no mountain at all. He didn't need to swear it to himself, 'cause he'd already decided, and decision was always stronger than promises.

"Whaddya ya think, huh?"

"It's somethin', Ennis, real somethin'." An' he meant it too, his whole life carved in stone. The part that mattered now, anyway. He knew he had a start sharing truths instead of soothing words with Ennis, before the buzzer came with the lark, but thinkin' now on Lureen and Randall, and even Bobby, the whole rest of his life paled like a pebble, like them stones back on the trail what'd tripped up the horses, like none a that existed. Just this-his hard breath, Ennis drinkin' eyes, the grass singin' a whispering sound, a hundred miles a woe, flowery meadows, the endless wind, and that huge black mass of mountain that might as well have been heaven and hell rolled into one, and more sacred. Sure to fuckin' hell Randall could never understand this thing, and seemed like a sacrilege to be lookin' across at Brokeback n' even thinkin' on Randall, like the times he'd passed a borin' church sermon by imaginin' Ennis's curve of hip as the muscles in it bucked into Jack, not even carin' who might notice the inappropriate bulge on his way outta the church. Lureen'd been alright with his final declaration that he couldn't go to church no more. Didn't sit right with him ta be thinkin' on Lureen now neither.

The silence stretched on, and Ennis shifted again. "Yeah, well, I thought..." Ennis didn't say any more. A beat passed, two, and Jack crossed the six, seven steps to Ennis, starting the week over at bear hug, an' skippin' straight to the risin' up. Jack didn' spare a beat, not hardly a minute a neckin', 'fore his hands were workin' buttons n' buckles. An' they was down and out to the lark call: a Sunday routine more sacred than church, but unspeakably so in the light of the towering dark.


	2. Chapter 2: The Lark Song

Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no money off of them.

Thank you to my betas for this chapter, Max and Sheera.

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Chapter 2: The Lark Song 

The wind woke him, flying wild from the northwest, full of November cold, and something else-the promise of rain. Jack shivered, and only then did he register-and recognize, sweet Jesus, like it was his own self-the warm naked body burrowed up next to his. If Jack had tol' anyone that Ennis del Mar "burrowed" after sex, they wouldn'a believed it in a million years, but in his sleep that man regained a measure of whatever had been stolen from him when he was just a kid. Probably not never with Alma though, or that waitress. Jack blinked his eyes open more fully, wishing the wind would stop blowin' him cold.

The cold didn't wake Ennis, and Jack liked the look of that sleeping man too much to wake him himself, despite the shivering in Jack's bones. Jack sat up, then held that moment a little while, not even moving. Somewhere a eagle sound pierced the lazy noontide in the dry early winter grasses, and Ennis's eyes bolted open like he'd been shot with lightening. Jack would a liked a shoot that eagle just then, too, but what was done was done.

"Hey, there, cowboy. What's doin'?"

Ennis rose to sit next to Jack, then reached for his pants, shivering a little. Jack saw he felt the cold when he was awake, that's for sure, but not like Jack felt it. Jack was from Texas, where cold never settled into your bones like mountaintop Wyoming November cold liked to. He reached for his own clothes.

"Gonna rain," Ennis noted, feeling that same thing in the air Jack had.

"Yup." A frown worked its way across Jack's face as he realized how the rest of the week would go. His conscience, such as it was, wasn't gonna let him put stuff off forever, and best ta get it over with soon.

The horses had strayed a little ways away, abandoned by their riders, finding the dry grass delicious. Ennis, zipped, was wandering over to collect them. Jack could hear Ennis lecturing them as they pulled against him for the grass. Ennis brought them back over, handing Rufus' reins to Jack.

"You, uh, want me to uh..."

"Nah, I'm fine. Got me some rest." Jack couldn't understand why he was breathless all of a sudden.

Jack mounted with some difficulty, but not too conspicuously, and was feeling a mite better about the week already. Still had some things ta get off his chest, though.

They were almost back to where the little rocks jutted out of the dry trail when Jack found his voice. "Friend, I gotta tell you some things 'bout Mexico." It came out sounding angry. Not what he meant. He wondered if maybe he was speakin' too sudden, hadn't thought this through, but he wanted ta get this over with, get through the storm he knew was comin'.

"Don't wanna hear 'em Jack." It was a warnin'.

Jack recalled with a tremor of fear Ennis's words from the spring. "_All them things I don't know... might get you killed if I should come to know them._" The words had haunted Jack. More than he liked ta admit. He knew Ennis wasn't a softy, had no love for queers, "boys like you" he had spat at Jack that day. He knew Ennis. But Ennis hadn't hurt him once since that sucker punch in nineteen sixty three. Not physically, anyway.

Could Ennis do it? Then again, wasn't that death, by Ennis's hand, a sight better than whatever might be waiting for him in a hospital in Texas? Just like throwing himself off a that overlook, a glorious flash of death in homage to Brokeback... that Ennis would spend the rest of his life hating himself for. Jack didn't want ta do that to him.

Well, not too badly, anyway. Part of Jack was mad as a bull with his balls in a vice over those words of Ennis's. He wanted to test them, to make Ennis back down, to make Ennis face truths like a man. It was from that part of him the next words came. He couldn't have stopped them if he'd wanted to, and he didn't want to.

"Well, fuck you, Ennis. You wanna kill me for sayin' 'em, don't fuckin' matter much to me. Doc says I'm gonna kick it anyways. Ain't gonna pretend 'round you no more. Not 'round you. I'm queer as the day is fuckin' long, an' you don't like it, you best keep yer dick outta my ass."

Ennis looked frozen in his saddle, his horse's steps slowing. Jack fired the words like bullets. Felt the satisfaction of seeing them land, sink into flesh. He wanted more.

"Went down there seven, maybe eight times. Get shitfaced then pay some tall Mexican ta try and stab me in the heart through my ass. You oughta know, though, didn't none a them do it proper. Not like you. You fuckin' manage to get me right in the heart without even tryin'." Jack was blindly raging with his words now, no sense of what Ennis was up to, but wanting to hurt that man more than anything.

"But that ain't the half of it. That foreman's wife I tol' you 'bout? Was the fuckin' foreman himself I was being fucked by. Try that one on for size, Ennis. Three years. Got feelin's for him too, strong feelin's. You kill me for those while you're at it. Ain't never hurt me, neither. Doesn't threaten to kill me. And here I am in fuckin' Wyoming. Why the fuck am I here anyways?"

The anger had suddenly run too deep in Jack. He'd started out to hurt Ennis, but now _he_ was hurting, too. He pushed Rufus to a trot, leaving Ennis somewhere back behind. He didn't feel any tears, just red hot anger. Dismounting, feelin' powerful of a sudden, he kicked a log, and again, wanting everything around him to hurt and hurt, like he hurt.

By the time Ennis arrived back in camp, red faced and leading his horse, Jack had packed his bags and was rolling the tent. He didn't expect Ennis would want to spend the rest of the week with him anyway. Jack was plannin' on heading up ta Lightening Flat early, heading back ta Texas early. Maybe they could even squeeze in an early surgery. Everything early except the one thing he wanted, and that was nearly too late ta matter. Or maybe it was all just too late. The rain was already startin' ta fall.

Jack looked up to see Ennis's face unreadable, but it didn't stay that way, cold and distant. Ennis closed the space between them quickly. He shoved Jack backwards hard. Jack was still reeling with surprise when he felt his back hit a tree. Ennis's arm swung out, gripping Jack close enough to his windpipe to choke the air of out of him. It was all happening too quickly for Jack to react, or even to think. Ennis was gripping his shoulders, shoving him up against the tree again, bruising flesh and rattlin' bones. Ennis lifted Jack away from the tree and slammed him back into it, grunting almost to a howl beneath his breath, rasping, "fucking faggot." Jack wasn't sure who Ennis was talking to.

For a split second Jack wondered if Ennis _might_ just kill him, but it didn't last. The rain drops were falling hard on the camp site now, and Ennis's mind caught up with his fists. His bruising grip got even harder, grinding into bones, hips grinding against Jack, feelin' the need of another bone. A sound that could have scared the devil himself, but full of regret, blew from Ennis's lips, and the moment of anger and fear collapsed away. Ennis was left sobbing hot tears onto Jack's damp and bruised shoulder, using that shoulder to hold himself up. Jack couldn't help it, raised a hand into that hair, made a shushing noise and held him close. In many ways Ennis was still such a scared little boy, and Jack felt something break inside knowing he kept doing this ta Ennis, same time Ennis kept hurtin' him, too. Should both be better men than that. He stopped his thoughts before they went too far and rocked Ennis just a little bit.

"Shush, Ennis, it'll be alright. Come on. Help me put the tent back up. Awright?"

Ennis stood, backed away from Jack, pushing Jack away from himself, back against the tree. Jack let himself be pushed, because Ennis headed straight to the half-rolled tent and set about unrolling. Fat, cold raindrops were falling from the sky. Smaller, hot ones were still boiling out of Ennis's eyes. But Jack knew better than to speak to him or touch him, better than to draw attention to those tears. Ennis was a man as needed time inside himself. They worked side-by-side. Old ritual, camp-making.

Thunder was crackin' behind the rain, late too, in its own way. Maybe the distance Jack and Ennis had kept all these years translated into thunder being twenty years' late.

There was no other refuge 'asides the sopping-wet newly-erected tent, else Jack was sure Ennis woulda taken it. Instead they both dove in, with their already-wet belongings. Jack sat quiet on one side, Ennis on the other. The space between them might as well been fifteen miles rather then ten feet, 'cause Ennis was sure in his own little world. They sat that way, Jack almos' afraid to move, for the better part a half an hour, jus' listening to the rain.

"Aint' workin'," Ennis said softly of a sudden, almost to himself, and Jack's stomach jumped at the sound of something other than thunder and rain.

"What ain't workin?" Jack's voice sounded skeptical, even to his own ears. He wasn't sure if Ennis meant somethin' simple, like maybe the tent, or somethin' more complicated.

"This, I mean," Ennis was gazing out the tent door, shielded now as it was by the rain fly. He was sitting clumsily cross-legged and picking at his jeans absent-mindedly. "I mean, this spring?" His gaze shifted meaningfully to Jack. "An' now t'day." The brown eyes flicked too-quickly back to the door.

Jack felt a frown etch its way onto his face. Wanted ta yell at Ennis ta stop talkin'. Felt like Ennis was prepairin' to throw him off a high ledge with no parachute, just at a time when Jack needed him most. Jack hoped he'd mistaken Ennis's meanin'. Maybe he did have a parachute, though. Had Randall. Not sure that was the same thing, but what mattered was, did Ennis think it was? Jack didn't speak. Couldn't even begin to fathom where Ennis was goin' or what ta say back. But Ennis kept goin' regardless.

"I guess... felt for a while like everythin' was alright, 'til this spring. But now..." He pinned Jack with his eyes again. "Three years? Christ." Eyes back to the door. "See it weren't workin' for a while. Years. Shit. Just glad I knowed. Don't aim ta know more."

"Well, I am sorry Ennis, but I got a need ta tell more."

"Understand that, Jack. Just hush up, will ya? Tryin' a think here."

Silence stretched on, and Jack was afraid he'd broken whatever magical spell was bringin' singin' words to Ennis' lips, Jack still waiting to hear if it was the song a th'owl or the lark. Frustration and impatience had him by the balls.

"I guess I gotta keep it, you know? Do anything." His eyes flicked back to Jack's again, but not long enough to see anything. "Jack? Swear ta God, was plannin' on fixin' this when I knowed 'bout Mexico."

Fuckin' lark. "Yeah, and how were ya planning ta do that, friend?" Singing at the wrong time. Jack found the coincidence a little hard to bear.

"Don' know. Junior went offa child support. Franny? Goes off soon. Thought maybe I could save up. Rent a place, maybe more often or something." Ennis was shaking, fishing in a wet pack of cigarettes. Finding one dry enough to suit his needs, he lit it, shaking like a leaf.

"Well, fuck me. Some kinda timin' you have, del Mar. Your idea of a fix is jus' a mattress under your delusional ass?"

"Christ, Jack," Ennis voice squeezed out, voice tight. He screwed his eyes shut, and started vibratin' all over, clear 'nough ta see. And Ennis was usually the solid one. Jack felt the tremors starting in his own hands.

Ennis was soon swipin' at his eyes with the backs a his hands, lettin' cigarette ash fall to canvas unnoticed. When he spoke again, sobs were clearly on the edge of his voice. Desperation was leakin' out all over it. "Christ! I was gonna... we coulda' talked. Maybe. Jus' tryin' a do what I can ta fix it." Even his voice was shaking. He took a long drag.

Jack felt his insides turn to jello, anger, rage, disappointment, love, fear, emotions he didn't even recognize, all mixing. Somehow his voice still sounded hard and cold, though, when he said, "Can't fix none a that now, Ennis."

"Fuck, I know!" Ennis's anger burst out through his desperation. He stood, cigarette gripped in his fingers, and stormed out of the tent. Was still raining, but only a drizzle.

Jack waited for the rainfall ta stop completely before following Ennis outside. Ennis was staring into the dead fire, eyes unseeing. Jack slipped up behind him to touch his arm. Like an instinct, Ennis pulled Jack in close n' tight, right how it felt best to Jack. Jack nearly felt, rather than heard, Ennis whisper into his hair. "Christ, I'm scared, Jack."

Jack pulled him tighter, voice firm, sayin', "Me too, Ennis." The last thing Jack wanted ta hear was that Ennis was scared. Wished he could hit Ennis for sayin' that, but that was just hypocrisy. Randall'd said it too. No one to be strong but him, and he was scared shitless, but that was how life had ended up. All so fucking scared. He hated the emotion. It tasted bitter in his mouth. Knew Ennis must feel the same about that, though Ennis had probably grown accustomed.

They stood that way a long time, gripping each other face-to-face while the air grew cold beyond bearing, though Jack didn't hardly notice that. His face was warm against Ennis's shoulder, the smell of Ennis everywhere down into his soul, and Jack thought maybe he'd never been so close ta home.

Ennis was the first to pull back. And goddamn, he was smiling. Just a little shy smile, swiped a thumb across Jack's cheek to say, "Darlin', you could catch a cold out here. Change inta some dry clothes, I'll make a fire."

Jack thought a fire sounded like heaven itself. His stomach jumped ahead to think about dinner and hole-fillin'. But even dizzy with the future, Jack held onta the present a second longer, knowin' that, if his doctor had anything ta say about it, the present was really all he had ta bank on anymore. Ennis was turnin' away, but Jack held his face firm between his hands. Ennis's eyes avoided his for a second, that hard, thin body twitching with impatience, but found them eventually.

"Listen a me, Ennis," Jack took in a deep breath. It seemed ta shutter in his lungs. "Wouldn't go nowhere without a fight. I'm scared, too, friend, but it'll all work out. Has to." Jack said it with a certainty he felt, honest-to-God. Wouldn't lie to Ennis now.

Ennis nodded, jawline tight, eyes wincing closed. He patted Jack once on the shoulder and turned to leave Jack's grasp.

Jack had a dizzying feeling about that leavin', wanted Ennis back immediately, but instead went into the tent to change. Twilight was already thick around the unlit fire.

Dinner was steak tonight, and Jack made it like always, three little plastic spice-jars, brought from home, bought by Lureen. It came off the Hibachi medium-well. Jack had the foresight to slice up some onions, wrap them in foil, and put them over the campfire, so they ate the steak with onion. Jack felt he'd learned a thing or two 'bout cookin' livin' so many years with Lureen.

It grew ta some sort of secret shared across steak, silent and brooding, still a baby elephant, but white as first snow. Jack's mind was tryin' ta accept the word and reject it at the same time. Cancer. Sayin' it to Ennis had made it more of a real thing than he wanted, though still felt like it was happenin' ta someone else. He felt stronger already, adrenaline and Ennis raisin' him up, and he knew he wasn't dyin' yet.

But Jack had an itchy feelin' from hearin' Ennis sing that lark's song. Lots of thoughts were broilin'. He didn't wanna think that Ennis had made it up, now that it couldn't happen-- didn't want to, but couldn't help it. Even if Ennis announced that he wanted a fly ta South America this very night with Jack and never return, Jack couldn' a gone. Had his mama ta tell, and surgery the week after. And who knows what after that. And all Ennis had really offered was a cabin, like he hadn't been able ta get this week, or maybe couple more weeks a year than he was doin' now. The low ante made Jack furious, too, but it was an old anger, one that had grown accustomed to bein' ignored.

But that wasn't the secret at all. Fear worked itself up into a common bond they shared. When silence stretched between them, both chewed on what the other was thinkin', wonderin' whose bite was more rare, less seasoned. But in reality it was just one more unspoken thing between them ta put on top a all the others.

It grew, though, in the way those sorts a things have a tendency ta do.

Sunday night after steak, Jack chatted Ennis up like usual. Didn't matter what topic, Ennis always seemed happy jus' ta be hearin' his voice. Jack's mind wanderin', he talked about a silly awards dinner Lureen had drug him to. He made fun a the women, all with their big hair, whole room smelled like hairspray, all congratulatin' themselves on bein' better'n their husbands. Bunch a husbands staring bored into their fancy salads that were so bitter you couldn't eat 'em. That took Jack off on a fancy-salads rant, which broadened into a general fancy-foods rant, and from there into full-fledged libel of all things fancy, and from there back to Lureen's hair. Ennis sat across the fire. Jack got the impression he wasn't listenin' ta every word, but he was hearin' Jack, as usual. Jack knew it was just the harmonica-- his voice makin' noise. That was what Ennis wanted a fill his evenin' with, didn't need conversation. A warm blossom spread across Jack's chest as he ran out of fancy-rants and silence fell across the cracklin' flames.

Jack loved ta talk ta Ennis. Lureen would interject 'bout how he wasn't makin' sense, or how he was turnin' cynical in his old age. Sometimes she would smile that bright smile a hers, and clack her tongue, an' mutter, "Jack Twist, yer a fool." Ennis never passed a cent a judgment on what Jack said. He could open his mouth and just let whatever he felt like come out, and that was a freein' feeling after being 'round LD all the time and havin' ta watch every goddamn word.

But even Jack recognized that thought for a lie. He could talk 'bout whatever he wanted as long as it wadn't important. There were a whole heap a topics he couldn't talk about in front a Ennis, lot of them he felt like he needed ta talk to someone about, and it wasn't like he had anyone else.

Jack imagined it for a moment-- what it would be like ta talk to Ennis 'bout the things really on his mind, 'bout the man at the grocery store couple months ago who hissed "cocksucker" in his ear and made Jack wonder if all a Childress knew. He'd told Ennis everythin' was fine, no one knew, and in one breath fat Ed McGrady proved him wrong. 'Bout the fact that LaShawn might be pregnant and Randall still wanted ta leave her for Jack, and Jack hadn't known how ta tell him it wasn't gonna be like that without soundin' like Ennis. 'Bout how part a Jack was alright with soundin' like Ennis jus' ta remind himself a Ennis. Jack didn't love Randall like that-- jus' as friends. And hearin' his own voice say, "it ain't gonna be like that" at Randall, Jack felt a stab of fear that maybe Ennis felt on him like he felt on Randall. Bein' here with Ennis, Jack couldn't conjure that fear from any part of his soul. One look at that man's eyes and couldn't be no doubt. But miles an' miles away in Texas, in the middle a the night, hearin' Ennis's words leave his mouth towards Randall, it had existed, sure enough. 'Bout how he and Lureen were fightin' 'cause Lureen didn't wanna subject Bobby ta the sight of his father dyin', and Jack didn't think Lureen had a right ta take his son away when he might not get a chance at see him again. And here he was babblin' on 'bout lettuce. All he had left was the present, so Jack dove in and tested unknown waters, momentarily thrilled that after twenty years there were still unknown waters ta test.

"Randall-- tha's the foreman-- his wife, LaShawn? She's pregnant." The words dropped out heavy, and Jack silently bit his tongue.

"Randall ever talk 'bout makin' a life w'you?"

Jack exhaled hard. "Yup."

"Cassie-- that waitress-- she used ta do that."

"Yeah? You gonna marry her?"

Ennis shook his head just enough, a sound in his throat like a word, like a no, but it never left his mouth.

"Why not?"

Ennis smiled at that. He tilted his head and met Jack's eyes across the fire. Jack hadn't expected to see Ennis smile this conversation, but the sight was more'n welcome. Shaking his head 'gain, his words, thick and sweet like honey, drawled out, "Couldn't do that ta a woman 'gain. Use her up, like I did Alma." Ennis shook his head a moment longer, staring into the fire, but Jack didn't speak, sure that Ennis wasn't done. And he wasn't. "Shouldn't do it, Jack. String the man along like that. Make him hope for that."

"You do it to me ev'ry day, friend."

The silence was thick around the fire, and when Ennis spoke again, his voice was dripping with tears and not with honey, "Yup. An' I wouldn't recommend it. Hurts like a bitch? Hard ta stand, sometimes." Ennis quickly tried to wash the words away with whiskey. The burn of it musta still been on his tongue when he spoke again, "Sure do wish you'd stop seein' him, though, Jack."

Ennis had wiggled his way inta Jack's tender place. It always existed, but wasn't often used any more: that place inside that knew that all a this was hurtin' Ennis as much as it was hurtin' him. Ennis just showed it different. Bitch of a fucked up state of affairs, the whole world, ta make both him 'n Ennis have ta hurt this much. "Can't do that, Ennis. Lureen ain't much a one for emotional support, and God knows that's what I need right now."

Ennis nodded. Apparently he understood. "Don't gotta be sleepin' with him for that."

Jack wanted to protest, to say that he needed the contact, needed the hole-fillin', only part of himself knew that sex with Randall didn't fill crap. Just tore that whole bigger, made it need more fillin'. And fuck this sittin' on the other side a the fire shit, too. Jack's hole was suddenly feeling like a maw opened up to swallow the whole goddamned word, and Christ he needed contact.

He got up, walked slow around the fire still, gripping his plastic cup of whiskey, and stood by Ennis. Ennis just looked up at him for a moment, but Jack forced that man's leg's apart with a couple taps, and sat on the stinking dirt between Ennis's knees. Ennis's hands had a mind a their own, and one settled on Jack's neck, set to stroking there with a calloused thumb. The contact wasn't enough, even for Ennis, and he leaned down to breathe against Jack's hair, kiss his ear, before leanin' back again, content with the tiny neck-rub. "Jack, I... I jus' don't want you..."

"Ennis, I could do that for you. You'd be the only one I'd do that for, but I ain't gonna do it fer no reason. You gotta promise me there's gonna be somethin' more here, when I get better."

Ennis groaned deep, but said nothin'.

"Look, I ain't takin' orders from you. Hell, we ain't even in a committed relationship, here. What the fuck you expect from me?"

"If I didn' have so many goddamn obligations, Jack, I already said I owed you more time."

"So what about when Francine goes of child support, huh?"

"Shit, I dunno."

Jack didn' want a say what he was thinkin'-- that if Ennis was willin' to make this deal, it was him as owed Ennis more time than he had left.

"Alright. I'll stop sleepin' w'him until this whole medical thing blows through an' we can discuss this more time thing."

Ennis' thumb stopped it's lazy dance. "It's jus' that easy? Say yer gonna stop and you do?"

"Y'hell, no, it won't be easy. You ain't askin' for no small favor. An' I ain't gonna be askin' no small one in return, neither, so you better think 'bout this."

"What're ya gonna do if he's all... comin' on ta ya, huh?"

Jack chuckled, smiling a huge mischievous grin that Ennis couldn't see. "Well I'll just..." He put on a John Wayne accent for kicks and continued, "mosey on over ta the bathroom, and ride myself silly ta the thought of Ennis del Mar."

Ennis chuckled back. "That so?"

"Could be fun. Not like I don't do that anyway. Added excitement with Randall in the next room. It ain't like I don't come screamin' yer name regardless."

Ennis had had plenty a whiskey, or else that image probably would a made him mad. Instead he leaned forward, draping himself over Jack, stroking Jack's neck warm, tracing the vein there with his thumb. He leaned against Jack's ear and said, low and cool like the wind itself, "You wanna scream my name?"

Jack's breath escaped him in a whoosh, and he struggled for the air to gasp out, "Sure do, cowboy."

Ennis's hand tightened on Jack's neck. "Well'n get up here, cowboy, an' I show ya how it's done."

It was Ennis that ended up on the ground, though, lowed and humbled, taking and receiving both, not givin' the owl the fucking time of day.

Neither of them finished what they started out for. Jack was too tired, feelin' weak and sleepy. Ennis was too far gone on whiskey and guilt. Didn't hardly matter, though, 'cause Jack still ended up laying naked on the ground, cradled by Ennis, that man's smell all over him in the firelight glow. Through the steam of his breath, Jack saw the moon, a waning crescent right after quarter, flicker behind the clouds, and thought ta laugh at it. The moon and the owl coul' go ta hell together, because he an' Ennis weren't part of this world no more. They could lay here forever, feel their love stretching ta all the places they never would go, China, an' England. The moon hadn't no place in their lives, the sun neither, 'cause both the sun and the moon had jobs ta be doin', and all Jack had left ta do was live in the present. Those bodies had ta light the world, but Jack only had ta light Ennis. Wished he coul' tell the moon not to waste his time w'anyone else. He an' Ennis was the world. Who else coul' there be to light?


	3. Chapter 3: La Orilla

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, and I make no money from them.

AN: I want to thank my betas for this chapter, Max and Melissa.

* * *

Chapter 3: La Orilla 

Jack woke in a hazy dream, but with one reality bustin' through: it was _cold--_ cold as a coal miner's ass. The fire'd died down, and there did'n exist a man as could hug Jack Twist tight 'nough ta stave off that cold. After all, Ennis's warm arms were tryin', an' if that tryin' fell short--

He stumbled, gripped, and stood, felt dreamlike grumbling and glances of pale skin before they resumed a fitting slumber in the old way, draped in bits of Coleman flannel and each other.

Morning was simple. Jack woke to find Ennis still in bed, but wide awake, gentle rain fallin' hard, but steady in a familiar cadence.

Ennis turned to pull Jack closer. Jack took in Ennis's scent, heavy on his thinning hair. "Like the way you smell."

"Yeah, need a bath more like."

"Can get ta that later."

Ennis laughed, but his smile quickly pulled down under a heavier burden. "Meant what you said last night?"

"Hell yes. You ain't niver had them fancy lettuces."

Another chuckle told Jack that Ennis was still in a givin' mood this mornin'. Silence let the laughter fade a moment before Ennis groaned. The topic clearly pained him, an' Jack felt awful to be bringing any burdens of pain down on a man already heavy-laden. Still, he'd said a lot a things last night that was true, so he simply said it. "Didn't do no lyin' as I recall."

"Did you-- did the doc really say that 'bout..."

Jack turned to look at Ennis, seein' right off the heavy circles under his eyes. "You sleep alright las' night?"

"Now, don' you go changin' the subject, Jack."

"I told you already, I'm gonna be fine."

"But yer doc don't think so?"

"He didn't say he doesn't. They jus' don't know."

Ennis nodded at that, lips tight, all the concerns in the world balled up into a single thought they shared in silence.

"What 'bout your friend?"

_Your friend_. Jack let the words sink in. "Yeah, he is my friend. An' I ain't gonna lie ta say you're askin' a lot of a sick man. 'Sides, I thought you was drunk. You 'member that conversation?"

Ennis groaned again, rubbing his eyes. "Shit, Jack, some things alcohol don't erase." Jack knew that was true but didn't say so. Ennis continued, his voice taking on a shade of anger and force. "Jus', don't think it's decent."

Jack's laugh came out bitter, but he didn't say anything. He got up, pulled on some clothes, and went out to piss. By the time he was done, a dressed Ennis was standing in the drizzle cursing at the wet wood they'd left out in the rain, but tryin' ta make a fire all the same.

"Think I left some wood under the fly, back a the tent." Jack, always lendin' unasked-for aid, always givin' without bein' asked. Thought it was pretty ironic that now Ennis was askin' for somethin' a Jack, Jack wasn't feeling too givin'. Lureen only liked a do things she thought of herself, or least that she _thought_ she'd thought of herself, and Jack was beginnin' a wonder if he and Lureen was so different in that.

Jack brought the dry wood back and made the fire himself while Ennis rooted in the food bag, lowered from a makeshift bear hoist. He brought out some dry foods-- a bag of pretzels, a pack of cookies. Jack got a fire started, and they made coffee on it, but they ate the dry foods for breakfast, neither feelin' much like cookin' or talkin'.

"You bring these?" Jack knew it was a stupid question. Wasn't no one else around here ta bring it, but he held up a cookie covered in yellow, purple, and white sprinkles.

"Was on sale at the grocery?"

"Yeah, I can tell." They tasted like sugary cardboard, and maybe a little stale. Still, stale or not, probably the only time Ennis would buy a sugary cookie complete with sprinkles was on sale, and Jack smiled to himself. He could just see Ennis at the store. They prob'ly had multiple colors, and that man'd stood there for ten minutes maybe, tryin' a figure out which Jack'd like best. Didn't know if it was true, but it was a mighty fine story, and Jack held it close, unwilling to ask. Maybe there'd only been one color, and it was right next ta the cash register, an' Ennis hadn't spent a minute on it. Didn't like that version so much.

"Ennis, listen, friend, I don't wanna make you no promises I don't know I can keep." Jack pointed at him with a yellow cookie, sprinkles flyin' onta the ground. "You ain't gonna be in Texas. I'm gonna be lonely as shit, an' sick. Can't say what I might do. I ain't the kind a swear 'cause I ain't no good at keepin' 'em." Jack retreated back into the cookie, eyes steady on the fire. Quickly as he had started with the frankness, he was done. It was hard truths he was shootin' now, and he wasn't quite ready ta see those land. Didn't wanna be hurtin' Ennis. Didn' want to so damn bad, but no fucking choice. But Jack didn' know how to ignore Ennis, seemed like. Couldn't just hurt him and turn away like he hadn't. Jack watched careful out the corner of his eye ta see what would happen, wishin' he could care less but knowin' it wadn't in him ta do so. Ennis pressed his lips in a tight white line. The drizzle had died away, even though the air still felt heavy and cold with water. Jack pulled his coat tighter and finished the cookie.

Ennis broke the silence with a muttered "come 'ere," below his breath. Before Jack could react, Ennis reached out and wrapped Jack up in his left arm, pullin' him close on the log. Jack didn' hardly breath for fear a breakin' that spell. Ennis didn't say anything for a mite, but when he did, it seemed like the world had split in two, Jack already died and gone ta heaven surely. All Ennis said was, "Yup. Ain't gonna ask again. Just tell you I sure would like it, an' I'm up fer that favor. Long as it ain't indecent."

Jack wanted a make a joke at that. Seemed like a perfect openin', but, as with so much where Ennis was concerned, this wasn't the time and it wouldn't be 'preciated. Couldn't hide the smile that sprang ta his lips unintentional, though. Didn' hide smiles 'round Ennis, anyways. They sat in silence for bit longer before Jack, restless, extracted himself from Ennis's grip. The air was clearing and growing a bit warmer. "How 'bout a hike?"

"You don't wanna ride?"

Jack shrugged. "Mix it up. Come on, let's jus' walk."

And walk they did, nearly hip and hip. Jack was feeling brave after all that had happened this morning, Ennis bein' so giving, and creepin' inta the weekdays where Ennis was relaxed and open. Uncharted waters had been smooth sailin' the night before, so he decided a try some new ones.

"Somethin' else I wanna tell you 'bout Mexico."

"Jack." More warning in Ennis's voice.

Jack smiled 'bout as big as he knew how. "Juarez... wooee! It's a different sort a place. They got this water truck. That's how people get their water. Plays that Mexican song, La Cucaracha, over n' over 'gain, but only the first half a the chorus. An' you thought my harmonica was bad, Ennis. Heard that thing jus' once, and I thought you'd never like ta be in a place where the water trunk's driving around playin' half a chorus of a crappy song."

Ennis didn't say anything, but Jack was hopin' he'd heard that Jack was thinkin' on him down there. He had a good share of Mexico stories that didn't involve no sex, and he figured Ennis might like ta hear 'em.

"They got dogs. Everyone down there got dogs, I guess 'cause a the crime, but at night the packs a feral dogs roam the streets havin' these pack wars. Kinda sad when you think 'bout it, an' their dog population trouble."

Ennis nodded, muttering something that sounded like, "mighty sad."

"They got this big marketplace near the center a the city. I bought myself one a them colorful Mexican blankets down there. They make these donut sticks, called 'em Churros? Cinnamon flavored. Ever'one haggles over prices. All the drug dealers, they got palaces while all the poor people livin' literally out a houses made a cardboard n' flashin'. Makes you 'preciate America."

Ennis was still just noddin' absently.

"All the little kids down there eat limes all the time. Limes there're a damn sight better'n the limes here, tell you whut."

"Don't eat too many limes."

"Well, Ennis, you was in Mexico, you would. But you wouldn't be able to stand that damn water truck ten minutes, with its La Cucaracha."

"Don't know that song, don't think?"

"Hell you don't."

"Nope."

Jack couldn't resist that. He knew all the words, and in Spanish too, and what they meant, so he graced Ennis with his version as well as the translation, all about Los Villistas and the cockroach who didn't have any pot, though he didn't know any Mexican history to explain what the story meant. By the time he was done, Ennis was downright chucklin'.

"And that water truck-- all it does is the first half a the chorus all fuckin' day long." Jack was smilin' wide, eyed glued full-on to Ennis ta see that man was smilin' too, in his eyes. The needles underfoot crunched in step as they meandered through the white pines on the dry side of the mountain.

"Think I'd beat the crap out a that driver." It was barely loud 'nough to hear, but Ennis was grinnin' tight.

"You prob'ly would. I thought so, anyways."

Silence dragged on for a minute, Jack listenin' ta all the variety of insect sound as they were fast approaching the krummholz. Ennis interrupted, soundin' lonely and lost, "You thinkin' on me down there?"

Jack sighed, a small "aww" escaping with it. He braced a hand tight on Ennis's nearest shoulder, giving a little squeeze. Releasing it, he said simply, "Christ, Ennis, I think 'bout you fuckin' everywhere. I had ta stop goin' a church on that account."

Ennis smiled. "Yup. Me too. Didn't feel right with all them churchgoers."

"Fuck them. I jus' would rather been home alone thinkin' on you than in a church." Jack winked. Ennis gave some sort a conspiratorial glance at nothin' off in the distance, his mouth quirkin', but his eyes lighting with lusty amusement. Finally a sort of small chuckle escaped Ennis's lips. Thinkin' on how many times he'd heard that sound in the past twenty four hours, Jack thought maybe dyin' was worth this day.

They lunched back at camp, swam in the warm, and eventually sunny, afternoon, hands floatin' an' slippery in the icy-cold water. Jack had ta take an afternoon nap, not somethin' he'd done before he got sick.

Dinner was beef pot pies Ennis had brought, came in tin foil packages 'specially for the camp fire. Jack tol' stories 'bout antics in Texas, neighbors who were stealin' mail from other neighbors, the raccoons that'd tore down the garden fence, and Bobby's performance in the football game last week. Leanin' back and dozin' on whiskey, everythin' seemed alright once 'gain. Right as they ever was. Ennis wasn't gonna push him on the Randall front; Ennis was tryin' a be more givin'; Ennis was willin' a fix this. Ennis was singin' so many new tunes this week, most of them soundin' like the lark, Jack had a mind ta give Ennis the benefit of the doubt.

Tuesday mornin' was warmer and sunnier. They rode all day, bringin' cheese sandwiches for lunch. Ennis knelt, dry tufted hairgrass n' fresh dirt stainin' his pant knees, givin' another gift to Jack. Felt good as the autumn sun screamin' down. Better, even. Panting and sucked dry, Jack settled gently down amidst the hairgrass. Christ, he was already dreadin' like a heavy weight the end a this week. He couldn't even begin ta bear the idea of returning ta Texas, loneliness, surgery, sickness, alone. Fuckin' alone. The thought made him grip Ennis, an' he wasn't totally sure some little girlish sound didn't come out a his throat, though he wasn't even in the mood ta blame hisself none 'bout that. If Ennis heard it, he didn't say, but Ennis's left hand rubbed gentle circles on Jack's stomach, under his shirt and his jacket, and around his still-open fly. Tuesday night they didn' even open the whiskey, but they were so drunk on each other neither noticed.

Wednesday mornin' the sky looked threatening, and a couple almos' too light to feel sprinkles came spritzing down. Ennis made more stone biscuits for breakfast, an' they road another trail for the day, puttin' off lunch. They had an early dinner of cans a soup. Jack's was baked potato with bacon and filled him up real nice. After dinner Jack pulled out his radio and shared a joint with Ennis. He also shared some foolish things 'bout LD, a crap book Lureen'd bought for him, an' his latest views on the Soviets. Didn' think Ennis much cared about none a them, but there was that harmonica again, the soft droll of Jack's voice to add music to the night. No wonder Ennis didn't never bring a radio.

Thursday was gorgeous again. They started the day with sex this time, movin' on to hash browns, a freezin' cold bath-swim, and Ennis talkin' on 'bout Junior and her new job as a nurse's aid down at the hospital. "Wonder if she knows anythin' could help you." Jack bit his tongue, not wanting to tell Ennis that a nurse's aid wasn't likely ta know more 'bout cancer than an oncologist, but it was the sort a thing all parents did, like he was always tootin' Bobby's horn, so instead he nodded. "Couldn't hurt for you ta ask her." Knew full well that wasn't a conversation Ennis was ever gonna have with his oldest daughter.

By dinner time, Jack was startin' a feel the weight bearin' down on him. Couldn' muster a good conversation like usual. Ennis either noticed, or was feelin' it himself, 'cause he was pretty damned lost in thought as well. Warm mashed potatoes and corned beef hash well-settled inta their stomachs, they sat back like usual ta watch the water and share whiskey. They wasn't lips-to-lips, so they were doing the next best thing with a whiskey bottle, takin' shares. Jack didn' know why things was this way, but he never bothered to question 'em too far. Ennis was Ennis and he did things his own way. Might not make sense most a the time, but Jack reckoned he didn' make much more sense ta Ennis. Usually somethin' in him was alright with these quiet, alone times that were so like Ennis ta have, jus' 'cause, well, dammit, they was so like Ennis ta have. Jack's man had his sacred routines.

The whiskey was startin' ta seep into Jack's bones ta settle in right next to the Thursday-night weight. Somewhere in the distance a bird was calling, but Jack was too far gone ta tell what sort. Eventually he was too far gone altogether. He licked his lips and didn' have a clue what would come out next, but his lips were feelin' want of use, and Ennis wasn't seemin' to notice nor care. His mind started reeling in that direction, and before he could stop it, his lips were moving to the tune of his brain.

"You're the best goddamn fuck, Ennis. Could really stand a be doin' that 'stead of this stare-at-the-water bullshit."

Ennis, apparently, was in a mood, though, 'cause he didn't give Jack a silver laugh, nor any other color, but seemed ta squirm almos' uncomfortable. Even through a whiskey fog, Jack was gettin' that message, loud n' clear. Handy dandy ol' 'I ain't no queer' Ennis was seepin' in round the scenes. His fuckin' Ennis, the one that only existed in the mountains, was packing up a full day early an' then some.

Jack's slow brain pushed words to his mouth again, though it could easily a been a full ten minutes later. Couldn't tell and didn't give a crap. "Fuck this shit." He wasn't sure if he was mad and wanting to push Ennis away, but fuckin' anything Jack could think of ta do in life carried the risk of pushin' Ennis away. Everythin' 'cept exactly what Ennis wanted, and what Ennis wanted right now was for Jack ta pretend not to exist.

Jack was too close to knowin' firsthand what it was ta not exist ta be willing ta pretend that right now.

"Ennis, you got some fuckin' tragic problems, friend. Whatever it is yer thinkin', sure wouldn't mind a piece."

The comment earned him a glare, but like training a opinionated dog, he met Ennis's dark eyes stroke for stroke in the firelight. Ennis turned away first. _And BINGO was 'is name-o._

"Dontcha ever shut up, huh?"

"Don't think I spoke more'n five word this evening." Under his breath, Jack added, "'less yer hearin' somethin' up there in that head a yours."

"Huh? I jus... think 'bout now wish I had a phone."

"What for?"

"In case."

Ennis didn't finish, and that silence beat on Jack harder'n any words ever could have. He was too drunk to make heads or tails of what sort of conversation they was havin' now, but Jack wanted a punch Ennis just for sayin' those two words. _In case. In case a whut?_ Wasn't goin' there. Couldn't take that on top of Saturday.

"How come you gotta go back Saturday this time?" Jack's fuzzy mind, distracted, jumped topic and ship together.

"Huh?"

"You usually go on Sunday."

"Not always."

"Yeah. Not always."

"Francine's birthday's on Sunday."

"No shit. You get her somethin'?"

Ennis made a face like he was tasting somethin' bitter, but he didn' answer. Jack could guess though. You don't spend twenty years thinkin' 'bout someone almost every fuckin' minute of the day without bein' able ta guess their thoughts. Ennis givin' his daughter a day, day that coulda been the last day he ever got a have with that one person he needed, just ta remember ta put air in his lungs in the mornin'.

As if on cue, Ennis said, "I didn't know, I mean, when I tol' her I'd take her out to brunch, Jack."

"So yer gettin' her brunch?"

"Can't... Fuckit, if I stand 'er up she'll never forgive me."

"'S alright, Ennis. I wasn't tryin' a mean nothin', jus' curious."

"It ain't alright!" Ennis's bark echoed off the lake water and stirred somethin' like fear inside Jack, fear for Ennis and what might be goin' on behind them dark eyes that Jack was not aware of.

"Hey," Jack's voice sounded over-soft by comparison, a hushing wind. But soothing as wind was, it'd spooked a horse or two in its day. "Hey, Ennis, have a good brunch with yer baby girl. You an' me, friend, we had shit fer daddys. Hell, I am a shit dad, jus' of a diff'rent kind. You, you're like you deserve a fuckin' 'Father a the Year' mug." Jack didn't mean it to come out sounding sarcastic at all, but the whiskey had other ideas.

Ennis didn' take the bait, already long gone in his own thoughts. Jack felt like shit, feelin' jealous for a little girl barely grown. Ennis's own little girl. Girl that he should a loved like his own.

Ennis shuffled his feet, standin'. He stopped by the fire, hands in his jacket pockets and shoulders slouched with that weight he'd carried since before Jack'd known him. When Jack was feelin' specially bad 'bout ruinin' Ennis's life, or whatever sorts a bullshit propaganda Ennis spouted sometimes that tried to attack Jack durin' dark lonely nights, he recalled ta mind the downward slope of those shoulders, the weight that had been firmly in place before Jack had met Ennis, and Jack hadn't made it no worse. Maybe better. He could dream. Probably nothing. Usually nothing, with Ennis. _I'm stuck with what I got here._

"I'm, uh, goin' a bed. You comin'?" Ennis sounded shy, and Jack heard the real question behind those words. _Wish I had the time ta teach him a say 'wanna fuck?' instead a 'golly gee Jack, sure am tired.'_

Jack smiled a toothy smile under his dark mustache. "Friend, I thought you'd never ask."

A tired, slow, dark fuck later, with Jack on top for no particular reason, 'cept Jack thought maybe Ennis was tired of havin' ta be strong this week, or maybe Ennis needin' a reminder that Jack was strong, strong 'nough _in case, _or whatever. The cool night and warm sleeping bags drew Jack inta his own dreams, no less troubled for all its colors, 'cause he couldn't really share that dream with Ennis.

Friday morning started cloudy and cooler than usual, the air feeling damp. Ennis was up out a bed again. Long ago, Jack and Ennis had bought matching Coleman's, totally on accident. Ennis's was blue, Jack's brown. Jack hadn't meant anything by buying the color, just liked the dark khaki shade an' the red n' green flannel linin', and he didn't think Ennis had picked out blue for any special reason, but it made a better story ta say otherwise, so that's what he told himself. They'd found, with matching bags, they could zip 'em together ta make one big one. Seemed fate had a little eye out for them from time ta time. Bigger one woulda been 'preciated.

The day cleared up quick while they were eating instant grits by the fire. Jack couldn' muster a sentence a words, vacillatin' 'tween thoughts that made him sick n' tryin' not ta think 'em. _Tomorrow Ennis will be gone and I'll hit the road. Don' think 'bout that, just' think 'bout today. Present's what matters anymore. Lucky jus' ta have a tomorrow, don' got no right ta complain 'bout what it holds._

"Shit, Ennis, it's shapin' out ta be one fucking beautiful day. Looked like it might be rain this mornin'." The weather. An old, safe topic Jack generally reserved for casual acquaintances. Rememberin' they was more right now was painful.

"Yup."

"Lookit those clouds, all soft. Ain't they the most beautiful thing you ever seen?"

"Nope." Jack let it slide, took it for what it was. Nothin' new, but any attention brought down upon that rock-solid word woulda turned it ta sand.

"We oughta have a damn fine ride today."

"Yup."

"Tell you whut, think Bobby wore out the clutch in my truck tryin' a learn stick. Need a replace it."

"Yup."

"Still didn't learn, though. Ha had a take my truck. 'S an automatic."

"Huhn."

Jack sighed hard. "You think you can manage ta string more than one word together for me, friend? I'm tryin' here."

That got him. Ennis's tight mouth sprung a little smile, cracks and leaks around the person he wanted ta be seen as, real Ennis tricklin' out the seams.

"That's more like it." Jack's voice carried subtle tannins of emotion, flavor and bitter together, makin' a good blend, like the wines Lureen liked when Jack was fillin' up with cheap whiskey.

The lark was singin' again, from a nearby lodgepole, an Jack wished it'd just shut up. He wanted quiet, but that lark and Ennis's shy smile made a deadly combination, something he wanted every day, and his mind's eye wandered to the old stories, like books read so often the pages started ta get yellow. First one he'd written for himself right on Brokeback. _What if Ennis woul' just drive off with me right at the bottom of this mountain? We could find a little ranch work somewhere, figure somethin' out. I'm sure we could. _Then there'd been others. He'd imagined a variety of reunions in that four-year drought, each one startin' in on its own story. The actual reunion had gone better'n he ever dreamt, but just started a fount a new stories, new hope runnin' in rivers, rivers runnin' into the dry land of West Texas, rivers dryin' up in Mexico after that divorce (_I fuckin' shoulda known wasn't no Alma makin' the difference, but I guess I ain't never been too smart_), though they didn' never dry up completely. Maybe the source was found again on this mountain in Ennis's changin' attitude, but Jack didn't really believe in that kinda water any more. Mostly learned ta drink whiskey instead.

Jack's reverie was interrupted by Ennis, finishin' his breakfast and movin' to wash the dishes. Jack gathered up the rest and joined him in silence by the widening river's edge, the camp site bein' near where it pooled into the clear mountain lake. As soon as he knelt down by that river, though, a hymn of his mama's came into his head, and made him cringe and back away. Seemed water wasn't doin' him no good today. Didn't wanna be gatherin' by no rivers just yet.

Dishes done, he an' Ennis each saddled up and mounted their respective horses. The day was almost soothing, all the truths out. Jack was glad as anything that he'd finished all that early in the week. Made these last days bearable. Even Rufus wasn't doin' that damned annoying trottin' crap he'd been gettin' up to all week, though Jack had a feelin' it wasn't content that stilled the horse much as fatigue. He was feelin' it too, a kind of animalistic version that seemed a run all the way down. Jack was feelin' tired now, for damn sure. So tired of feelin' sick, and sick of feelin' tired, tired of worryin' 'bout Ennis, and more tired of tryin' not to worry. For a minute, just a lazy, sparkling minute under the impossibly deep blue skies of a perfect fall day in the mountains, Jack thought maybe he would a liked ta lay down between the dried balsamroot and sleep alone and long.

But he didn't want that for forever, so he wouldn't take it now. Not at all. Not for a fuckin' minute. Had a stop that kind a thinkin' before push came to shove, and he knew it. Don't _no one_ fight cancer and win as goes in soul-tired.

The ride was quiet and ended too soon, knee brushin' knee like always, horse's strides in sync, two troubled souls wanderin' in chaos. Wanderin' together was better n' wanderin' alone.

Friday night a different kind a sickness set in. It was one he was used to, but it set in hard and wasn't letting go. Jack sat further away from Ennis than usual, something clenching inside. Didn't eat nona a the dinner Ennis made of canned mini wieners an' fruit. Just sat and watched the quiet mountain waters and the darkness hiding under them. Didn' wanna know about darkness, but the waning moon had some other ideas 'bout that. Tonight it was only a tiny sliver, setting just before full dark, rising again so late in the night it was probably just morning. Not quite dark yet, and somethin' powerful dangerous rose up in Jack ta remind him, might be the last time he ever got ta see the moon so tiny you coul' barely tell it was there. He locked his eyes on it 'til the mountains swallowed it whole.

Ennis didn' even see the tiny moon. _Might be my last, an' it weren't good enough for him._

Part of him wanted a yell real bad, to scream at the top of his lungs. _I hope this is the last fuckin' time I see you jus' ta make you feel like shit_, or some such. Who knew, maybe tomorrow at the trail head them words would come flyin' out, but Jack had dealt enough hard blows for one week and he knew it. Still, the sick didn' wanna be tapped down. So he did the only think he knowed to do and tried to hold it down with a whole... liter a whiskey. When the hell'd they switched these things from fifths ta liters? The weighty feel a the bottle felt sort a precious to Jack, like crystal that held some sort of fire. The taste was sweet and bitter and vaguely olivine, like the autumn grasses of the mountain, but not like them fuckin' martinis rich people in Texas sometimes drank while Jack was hittin' the cheap whiskey, an' knowin' why he was hittin' it too. _Twist, Jack Twist. _Jack laughed at his own joke, sinking into the comfortable oblivion of alcohol and crisp air. _When did my fuckin' liter become so damn near empty?_

Ennis broke the silence just long enough to say, "She's turnin' seventeen. One year, Jack."

Just then some whiskey made a wrong turn in Jack's throat, and he found himself wishin' he even had the air ta gasp for air. Ennis was still turned towards the lake, not paying any mind, while the lack of air was sobering Jack up and making him see red. Eventually he calmed himself enough to gasp and choke, coughing hard, and Ennis ignoring him all the same. Fuck that man. Fuck the whiskey. It burned like hell in his lungs an' made him tear up. Good 'nough cover and Jack was almos' grateful for that. The soberin' up didn' last long, though, as the pain tried ta fade away (never quite succeeding), and the alcohol in his lungs settled inta his blood stream. Jus' like Ennis, alcohol worked its way inta his blood stream from wherever he put it. Stomach was jus' the least painful place.

"Motherfuckin' whore. Dammit, I hate this Ennis. Yer leavin' tomorrow."

"Ain't 'til tomorrow. Don't aim to dwell on it."

That sounded like the funniest fuckin' thing Jack Twist had ever heard to his far-from-sober ears. "What kinda shit is that?" He barked a bitter laugh that quickly turned to wheezing in his burning chest.

"You're drunk." Ennis's voice sounded tight.

"The hell I am."

"Well, y'ar. Lookit-- how much whiskey was in this bottle when you started, Jack?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, this is the new bottle. Whatcha gettin' at?"

"New? Fuck, Jack. Lookit." Ennis took the bottle and swirled it a little before Jack's blurring eyes. Seemed like Ennis had some point ta make, though Jack was sure he was missin' it.

"Ah Ain't drunk," Jack drawled, Texas accent seepin' out uninvited.

"Come on." Ennis was pullin' Jack up to his feet. Jack was suddenly aware that the Earth was shiftin' and he didn' have much idea where 'up' was, though he trusted Ennis ta tell him.

Somehow he found himself wrapped in Ennis an' Coleman again, boots off, belt comin' undone. "We gonna fuck?"

"You're too drunk."

"Ain't too drunk."

"Yeah, y'are, y'wouldn't enjoy it."

"Would too." Jack's voice was fadin' fast.

"Come on, bud, jus' sleep it off."

Just' on the edge of a alcoholic sleep so's he never again was sure if it was a dream or not, he felt Ennis smooth a rough palm over his hair, heard a shushing noise in that man's throat, an' those words, "Love you too goddamn much, Jack, so don' you go dyin' on me, huh?" Jack's last clear thought was that if he had to put money on it, it was probably a dream, but he chose the other version and held it close like gold.

When Jack woke again, the tent was pitching back n' forth, spinning too, and he thought it musta been the worst storm he ever heard of, gonna pitch 'em both right off the mountain even from their tent, but as sleep cleared from his mind, he could see and hear stillness all 'round. The storm weren't outside the tent at all, but inside Jack. Not five seconds passed before he was kneeling, right hand braced on the Earth for a reference point, outside the tent door, puking up everything he had. "Shit," he sputtered.

When the clenching spasms of muscle had subsided, he stood hesitantly and unsteady, movin' towards the water. He leaned over it gulped a few hefty mouthfuls from as far from the shore as he could manage, Ennis words 'bout beaver fever makin' him feel foolish for not findin' the canteen, even in the dark. Jack chased the cold water with cold air, gulpin' in the smell of the mountain ta fight off the sickness within'. He made a unsteady path down the lake shore, glad for the firm soil under his boot soles (though too near the lake it turned ta mud and made a suckin' noise, but that was alright 'cause it was better than silence).

He jus' stood by the lake shore for a moment, another hymn comin' ta mind, but not one from his mama. He was swayin' with the invisible music to the rhythm of his whiskey-filled brain. He'd learnt it from a woman he met in Mexico. She'd found him after that first night, sleepin' in the street with mud and tears and semen caked on his clothes. She'd brung him back to a cardboard box of a shack, made Lightnin' Flat look like damned Beverly Hills. The house was really madeo f crates and flashing, an' she shared it with a husband and seven children, only the youngest a girl. The woman'd given him homemade coconut candy, sang a hymn while hangin' her laundry, handed him a lime and some rainwater he didn' dare ta drink, an' sent him on his way. He hadn't known enough Spanish to ask her name, an' didn' have nothin' ta give her (though he had left his hat behind, since the girl had taken to it, and the little Latina reminded him of Ennis's girls-- girls he had faces now ta put names to). But he would remember that hymn, knowin' what the words meant now, 'til the day he died. Which, as it turned out, might not have ta be that long.

_Shit, Twist, gotta stop thinkin' like that. Maybe she was a angel. Maybe she was jus' a Mexican woman. Maybe she was the sister of the man you paid to fuck you the night before. Don' matter anymore._ "Don' nothin' matter anymore," he whispered to the still-as-stone water.

"Yeah, an' fuck you too." The soft voice sneakin' up behind him made him jump.

"Fuckit, Ennis! Scared th'livin' shit outta me."

"What you singin'? Don't believe I know it."

"Jus' some ol' hymn." Jack was still facing the water, though Ennis's voice was comin' close. The night was too dark to make facin' Ennis worthwhile.

Almost too quick for Jack to react, a hand clutched onto his shoulder, pullin' him close and warm. He hummed into the warmth.

"You see somethin' out there, bud?" The words were warm and breezy against his ear.

"No, Ennis, don't see nothin' in any direction."

"Huh. Me neither. Too dark."

"Reckon' so."

The moment held. Jack was holdin' on as hard as he knew. His breaths were comin' quick an' tight, an' he wished Ennis hadn't woke up. He needed this time, but he couldn' do it in front of Ennis. Not now. Ennis musta sensed it though 'cause he clutched tighter. Ennis's last minute clutching sent Jack over an' edge, and silent liquid poured from him. He breathed sharp. The hand on his shoulder just moved a little bit, rubbin'. Ennis's head fell forward to find his own, an' the rest was jus' a story for the silent lake an' dark mountain, cryin' and gulpin' turning to fatigue. It vaguely occurred to Jack that it was the first time he'd cried in front a Ennis, an' he was glad he done it, but also glad he done it in the dark.

When the noises subsided, Ennis was still clutching, clutching at Jack, and at Jack's pants like some kinda kid that couldn't figger out a cookie jar. Ennis's arms were still wrapped from behind. Jack mustered a "hey, now," even soundin' like somethin' Ennis would say, and helped Ennis's clumsy hands with his own shakin' ones before yankin' down his trousers altogether. Jack dropped into the mud on hands n' knees without hesitation.

Never had sex in the mud before, but Ennis was still bearin' down on him, n' it were a weight he was pleased to hold. They'd done the firm ground n' the dark water, but the mud was new, suckin' sounds surroundin' on all sides, breath seeming ta come from both, or maybe none, the air around them breathin' for them in a groan that fit. Jack didn't even pay a mind to the wind, kickin' up dust that stuck in his tear tracks, or to the mud that was gettin' places. Because Ennis was gettin' places too. Jack felt the firm and strong of him go soft eventually, and it was right ta know Ennis could be soft as the wind settlin' down to a timid breeze. An' there they was, mud an' wind an' spunk between dusty earth and dark waters. Both cold and dirty in more ways than one, Jack still feeling the clenching muscles, clenching muscles that tried with everything they knew to hold Ennis close, but in the end, was Ennis himself had ta decide ta lie in that mud with Jack.

Somehow mornin' found them back in the tent, and Jack reckoned by the mud caked jus' 'bout everywhere he hadn't dreamt the night before, but maybe slept through the walk back. Saturday passed quiet. Quiet breakfast was capped with one last ride for the horses' sakes before they were trailered and drug away. Ennis was busy, foldin' in on himself, findin' each part of real Ennis, foldin' up neat like a piece a laundry, findin' a closet ta put those pieces of himself in. Maybe they weren't pieces of himself after all, but pieces of Jack-and-Ennis, or even just Jack left behind in Ennis, that man foldin' him up neat and putting him up in the closet 'til maybe Jack came by again. _'Til maybe. It's always been 'til next time', but now it's 'til maybe'._ Jack wasn't even feelin' sick over that, just numb with winter cold, the silence of the mountains, the silence of Ennis (maybe they was the same thing), poundin' through his ears. God, he missed the annoying screams of a thousand sheep. Jack had a wonder if Brokeback would a been as silent as this mountain was, or if it would a had some opinion ta expresses on these matters.

Jack kept his spirits up. Didn't nothin' much matter after this week 'cept'n stuff he had no control over, and he learned long 'go to let dead dogs stay buried.

Ennis was quiet, firm, all folded and neat, presentable ta strangers. Jack's truck was all packed too soon, and Ennis had the horses set, an' his stuff set too. Everything set for the partin', Ennis leaned 'gainst his truck. Jack was standin' a few yards off, not wantin' a push anything. He wasn't sure what he needed from Ennis, but he gave up tryin' a control that man. Had to pick his battles now, and Jack was feeling exhausted for sure.

"Well, uh, take care, then." Ennis spared him a questioning, squinty glance. "You, uh..." Ennis walked towards him, put out an arm like he was 'bout ta tap Jack on the shoulder, but instead pulled on Jack's jacket a little bit, pullin' Jack close. Ennis's warm arms closed hard around Jack. Ennis's hand patted Jack on the back, way you did a baby needing to get something out a its stomach. Jack was blinkin' back tears, so happy for this last gift of a closeness he didn' have words.

Finally Ennis tore away in one swift movement. "See ya in a couple months, bud." An' he was checkin' the lock on the trailer, walking around the passenger side.

Jack din't miss it when Ennis's footsteps seemed to slow and scuff the ground, markin' there, diggin' up a little dirt. Jack couldn't see the man himself through the truck n' trailer, but he could hear the feet scrapin'. And he sure as hell could hear the gasping that could only be one thing.

Comin' slow and quiet 'round the front end of the truck, Jack let his sight rest on Ennis-- Ennis with his face screwed up, hard-lined, red 'round the eyes and mouth, tears spillin' down everywhere ta mix with snot. Ennis, swipin' at those tears as fast as he could, but not fast enough. In the space of that half a minute, the space between him and Ennis thick with fears and hopes, Jack came to see realized what he had always hoped for. Only now it weren't just a hope, but a fear too.

He an' Ennis-- they was in this together. Hadn't been tied together like this in their twenty years of lovin'. The fact were both sobering and uplifting. Together. They lived in each other. Died in each other. Ennis took the news like he hisself was the dyin' man. Maybe he would be, if Jack couldn't pull out a this. Jack weren't just fightin' fer himself and his own life.

Jack hardly finished the thought, and didn't remember crossin' the space, but he was holdin' Ennis tight against his chest, Ennis cryin' in broad daylight again like the last time they parted, only this time felt a lot different. Jack shushed and stroked like he usually did. Seen Ennis spend more tears this week than a whole twenty years combined, and the fact weren't lost on Jack. He took as many of those tears and as much of the snot, with it, onta his own blue western shirt. Ennis, holdin' tight, was startin' ta slip inside the layers of Jack's open parka, and Jack felt mighty nice ta have him there, right over Jack's heart. Had ta bite back tears himself, though, as he held Ennis.

Eventually Ennis musta realize he'd been cryin' like a girl, 'cause he pulled away, pushed Jack off, paced fast around his truck, and put one foot in the cab. Hesitating on the last foot, he peered at Jack across the truck and through the window. "Gonna get a phone." It was all he said before he started the ignition and drove off without lookin' back.

Jack watched him drive away with a feeling like maybe it weren't so bad. Not so lonely after all, Ennis always with him. Ennis trustin' him with his life. Leastways they was both miserable, n' maybe for the same reason this time. Might not a happened since... well maybe since them Chilean sheep when everythin' got mixed.


	4. Chapter 4: The Clutch

Diclaimer: The characters are not mine and I make no money from them.

AN: Thanks to Melissa, Max, and Sheera, who betad this chapter. Beware of animal death in this chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Clutch**

The open road was a beacon a lonely, callin' a Jack Twist. That road that could take Jack anywhere, and had taken him some pretty interesting places fer sure, was powerless ta deliver him inta his salvation. Today was leavin' day, and leavin' day roads were wide and clear like the road to Hell. Jack quit watching that dirty road like he thought Ennis' truck might come tearin' back towards him. He thought he ought a muster some sad, but numb was swallowin' him whole, too empty ta even feel empty. Jack climbed on inta his truck, and took ta that wide passage east.

The truck eased inta the valley too eagerly for Jack, roads flattening and spreading out, stretching from the Big Horns. The Wyoming woeful plains were no longer a distant concept, but all around. The endless roads and flat horizon gave Jack the eerie feeling that no matter how hard and fast he drove, he wasn't goin' nowhere. He never liked to feel that stagnation before, but now he figgured it was better than some a the alternatives. And besides, he was goin' somewhere, jus' almost too slow ta tell. There was a big difference.

It was a sweet November so far. The week had been unseasonably warm, and this Saturday late-afternoon was unseasonably beautiful in every fuckin' way, sun shinin' down like June. It was late in the year an' the corn an' apples had long been farmed, but there was still an occasional roadside set-up sellin' a half-rotted pumpkin or sixty. Flocks a starlings and finches floated over the winter wheat. Sometimes the starlings would take to the air in swirling masses, lookin' like the aurora he saw couple times as a kid, only instead of the shimmering greens and blues of his youth, these were black and dreadful. But they had some mysterious 'bout them. It was a beautiful sight, Jack thought. Their dance was deep and dark and a secret from the world, like life, and death, and the unspoken silent blackness lying between the stars at night.

The drive wasn't all sunshine. Out a nowhere a little hail storm blew up an' rained tiny pebbles onto his truck. He was usin' the old '79 this trip; the new one was a automatic, and Bobby'd been unable ta understand the stick. Jack only found out after hittin' the road that Bobby'd 'bout worn the clutch down ta nothin' in the process of not learnin' anythin'. Bobby weren't too smart, even though he was goin' a get a better education than Jack had ever had. Still, he was a good kid, an' if Jack had a have a kid, he prob'ly would a picked Bobby. Jack made a mental note to replace the clutch before the long drive back ta Texas. He had no desire to be stuck on the side of a road.

The drive weren't long from the Big Horns ta Lightning Flat-- only three an' a half hours the way Jack drove. The sky was the bluest blue Jack had ever seen, not a cloud in sight in any direction 'cept one tiny fluffy one off ta the Southeast, probably the one that brung the hail. He was tryin' not ta think 'bout Ennis, but missin' him already, when he pulled up Trail Creek Road, gravel bouncin' under his four tires. Not ten minutes later he was pullin' on ta the dilapidated Twist Ranch.

They'd been expecting him, and his ma was at the door in no time. She was smilin' that tight little smile she had. Jack hugged her gentle, and his ma put a hand in the small of Jack's back to lead him on inside. Their exchanges were few, just a "Hey, Mama," followed by a "Jack, you look good. Come on in." Jack wasn't sure if maybe he looked better than a week ago, when Ennis said he looked sick, or maybe just his ma wasn't really lookin'. Or not wantin' a see.

The inside a the house was way too cold, not a whole hell of a lot warmer than the temperature outside, though that was fallin' on account of evenin'. Jack would a guessed maybe sixty three, and his fingertips were feelin' numb as he helped his ma finish dinner. His dad was workin' and would be back soon. Dinner was just some hotdish, but Jack was happy to help just ta be around the warmth of the oven, sixty three bein' a damn sight too cold for him.

John Twist came in, parked his hat, and sat down at the table without so much as a hello for his only child. Jack didn't pay it no mind; his dad hadn't been speakin' ta him most of his life. Long ago gave up on pleasin' that man, recognizin' it as a damn waste a time. Never did know why his dad was so sour on him, but didn't really matter at this late date.

His ma put the casserole on the table and Jack put down plates. They both got the water glasses. When they'd finally sat down, Ma cleared her throat.

"John, your son is here."

He grunted. "I ain't blind."

"Good then. Let us all say grace. Jack, since you are visiting, think it'd be best for you ta do it."

Jack nodded. He hated this fuckin' job, sayin' grace. He felt like his daddy thought he was mockin' God, and maybe his mamma thought sayin' a prayer at a dinner table would make him different from how he was.

"Lord, bless this good food. Help it nourish us to do thy service. Amen." It was basic'ly the same grace he said every time. _Maybe one day they hope I'll say, 'Lord, bless this food and help it make me not queer.' _Needless ta say, he didn' really enjoy seein' his parents no more, though he wondered if he ever had, and couldn't say as it was so.

They were diggin' out the hotdish, somethin' generic with chicken, cheese, and noodles, when Jack broke the news. "Ma, Dad, I got cancer. I have surgery next week."

His dad was the first ta speak. "Goddamn Farley's sick."

"Well he ain't th'only one." Jack wondered if anyone'd heard him.

"What do you have, Jack?" His mother had a crease of concern between her eyes, and she'd put her fork down to lean hard on the table.

"Doc says he has a bladder tumor or somethin'. Can't pee." His dad was still harpin' on Farley.

"Cancer, Ma. Of the kidney."

"Can't afford no surgery. Been a good horse, but we're gonna hafta put him down. A shame."

"Dammit, Dad, didn't ya hear me?"

John Twist pinned Jack with his eyes, blue too, but a steely, cold color.

"Jack's sick, John."

"Gonna cost ten thousand dollars."

"Goddammit, Dad, I ain't no horse."

"Tell you whut. I had the money, I'd spend it on Farley 'fore you." With that John Twist stormed out of the room, plate mostly untouched.

The room fell silent for about twenty seconds, after which Ruth Twist said in her simple, enunciated, ladylike voice, "Jack, please don't use the Lord's name in vain at my dinner table."

Jack had had enough and he was stormin' back out inta the cold November air before he lost his temper to his ma. He sagged down hard on the front stoop, but the chill of the concrete seemed ta soak right through his pants.

Farley. Farley was Dad's oldest work horse. He was a tall brown quarter horse with a white blaze. Jack had ridden him a couple times, an' he was steady in that predictable way that even Ennis's horse seemed ta lack. But Jack hadn't never put much stock in steady an' predictable. Was just another way to say boring. Least when it came to horses. There surely was something awful charming 'bout a steady and predictable man.

Jack stood to stretch his stiff back before heading towards the horse barn, thinkin' on Ennis, like most always. On the outside, Ennis and John Twist didn' seem too diff'ernt: quiet, stubborn, strong, steady like rock. But his dad was granite, cold and gray, where Ennis was like one of Lureen's garnet rings that seemed a change color in different lighting. Jack had seen the colors a Ennis, reflecting always, but only for whoever was lookin' for it. To the world Ennis might seem dirt-brown and silent-gray, but to Jack he was also passion-red, peaceful-blue, flowering-purple, naive-white, envy-green, and black like night down to his center. Not the evil kind a black, but the way the black between the stars bewitched you and drew you in too deep. Jack caught himself lookin' up at all that blackness an' felt the shiver of bein' small in such a bigger world.

Or maybe the shiver was the cold air movin' in. Trance broken, he hurried to the horse barn ta check on Farley. Reason seemed obvious enough, like he knew somethin' 'bout what Farley was feelin', though that was pretty stupid 'cause Farley was just a horse.

Jack was leanin', back ta Farley's stall, just scuffin' his foot along the cobble-brick barn floor, sweepin' up bits of hay and dirty into little piles with his boot toe, when his dad entered the barn, shotgun in tow.

"You gonna shoot him for me?"

Jack stood full height and frowned. "Can't the doc give 'im a shot?"

"Ain't gonna pay no money for ta kill a horse. Can do that myself."

Jack felt his stomach turn at the image of his old man leveling a shotgun at his best horse. "I'll pay for the doc."

"Don't need yer money." John spit some chew at Jack's feet, landing it right on his own barn floor.

"'Parently you do."

"You wanna shoot him or should I?" His dad was already makin' a move towards the stall.

Jack could only frown back, not budging. He said the only thing he could think of ta say, "You let me do it, an' I will, but not tanight."

John watched him suspicious, but nodded and walked off.

_I ain't stupid. Old bastard wants me ta shoot the horse with cancer as a lesson to me, how worthless I am, not worth spendin' a dime on._ "Well fuck him." Felt awful good to say aloud.

Jack went back to the house, found his dad already gone to bed. His ma was still up, though, cleanin' a spotless kitchen, solvin' problems as weren't even there, and Jack wondered whether she an' Ennis would a gotten along.

Hearin' him enter, she turned, her smile tight and nervous. "Jack. Son. I'm sorry about your father. He doesn't understand 'bout illness. Is your illness serious, Jack?" His mother had a dry way of saying things, but he saw the glimmer of liquid in her eye.

"Don't think so, Ma. Jus' have ta get this surgery." No need to tell his ma everything he told Ennis 'bout the doc sayin' he didn't think they'd got it early 'nough, though he didn't have no proof a that.

"That's good, Jack. I'll pray for you."

"Thanks, Ma." _Much good as God'll do me. We ain't exactly exchanging favors, Him n' me._

"And your friend?" _Which one,_ Jack thought. _Las' time I was here I was shootin' my mouth off 'bout Randall like some sort a fool. When I think 'friend', I think Randall, but that's because Ennis ain't my friend, he just is. She pro'ly means Ennis, though._

"Ennis? He's doin' alright. Yeah. Tomorrow's his daughter's birthday."

"Oh, that's good. He has a daughter then?" Jack didn't miss the surprise in her eyes.

"Yup. Two of 'em, actually."

"An' he's married then?"

"Divorced. Why you askin', Ma? You never asked 'bout Ennis before."

She shrugged and set to washin' the old wooden table with a heavily stained rag that mighta been white and blue once upon a time. She was a small woman, an' not anywheres near young, but Jack could see her puttin' some elbow grease ta things when she wanted to.

Her next words nearly shocked him out a his chair. "You tell him?"

"Who?" he kept his face stern, like he didn't know what they was talkin' about.

"Your friend."

"Yeah I tol' him."

She nodded, kept scrubbin', head down.

"Well, Ma, I had a long day an I'm gonna hit the hay."

She stopped at that, put down the rag and hugged him lightly. Kissin' him gentle on the cheek, she said, "See you in the mornin', Jack," and went back to scrubbing. He turned slowly to head up the stairs to his room. The evenin' hadn't been anythin' like he'd hoped, but it was all he'd really learned to expect from his parents and Lightning Flat-- it was practical. Life didn't stop here for no one, and ta people inured to livestock, death didn't invoke much fear. _People 'cept Ennis, Ennis bein' one big ball of fear 'bout now. _Jack had long 'go given up on figurin' out what he meant ta his parents. He knew his Mama loved him, but she had a beat-down sense about her. He knew where that came from, too. He climbed the creakin' steps, knowin' long ago they'd stopped bearing his weight in silence.

The bedroom was dark, and he turned on the one lamp, but it didn' help much. The bed was two sizes too small for a grown man. His ma kept his room like it was when he was a boy, an he had ta say he did like one thing about that-- as a boy it was his refuge. His daddy didn't never come ta hit him in his room save once. It was the one place where he would close the door, and sit by the window, and dream of the million and one fates awaitin' for him down a road made a earth and gravel. None a those fates was the one he'd found, but this week he'd learned somethin' 'bout himself, and that was that he wasn't yet done tryin', still workin' for somethin', and if he wanted it bad 'nough he had some plans ta be makin'.

The bed creaked like his old bones, and he stared off in the vague direction a the closet doorway, framin' more dreams now than his rickety old window frame ever had. Goddamn, but he didn't know what ta do. Ennis had said he would "do anythin'," but Jack knew the power a sway that man held over him, and he knew he wouldn't ask for nothin' with no finality that Ennis couldn't give. Jack just wasn't sure any more whether this thing was 'bout what Ennis wanted and didn't want, or whether ti was 'bout what he did an' did not have the balls ta do. Ennis was a complex creature, and more broken than Jack knew how ta fix. Feelin' one of them deep frowns wearin' wrinkles under his skin, he lay down on the bed ta think.

Well, he didn' know the first thing 'bout fixin' Ennis, but he sure as hell knew how ta replace a clutch. He wouldn't go tomorrow on account it was Sunday and no place'd be open, but he'd try some junkyard on Monday and see if he couldn't get one.

It was somethin' practical to think on while all the things he didn't want ta think on nibbled away at the sides of his soul, him pretendin' ta not notice the nibblin'. But Jack wasn't one ta lie to himself, so after he'd pissed and changed inta sweats for sleepin', the house too cold and drafty ta sleep in anythin' else, he lay back on the bed again. Jack starred up for the ceiling for a long while, playing images of his week with Ennis over and over in his head like some sort of movie, 'til he was hard in his body, and needy in his soul. Didn't want no relief right now. He needed to feel the pain 'cause it was better than feelin' the emptiness. He rolled over to face the wall, and into the dark bedroom of his childhood dreams, did what he hadn't never done before, and murmured a "goodnight, Ennis" to the patient wooden walls.

Jack woke up early, sun streamin' in though the South-facin' window. His first thought was how eager he was not ta be under his daddy's roof any more, which reminded him 'bout the clutch problem. He dressed an' went downstairs to find his mom servin' up sausage and syrup.

She was alone. Her faced was etched with worry lines, but that wasn't much new, and Jack couldn't recall a time in his forty years his ma's face hadn't carried bad emotion with every other kind. She set down some sausages and a coffee for him without asking, saying simply, "You eat this up, Jack."

"You goin' a church, Ma?"

"Your father and I will be leavin' in about an hour for church."

Jack nodded, absorbing the information. "Say, Ma, anythin' you need me ta do around here."

"You'll have to ask your father about the chores. But I do know part of the paddock fence is falling down. Foxy kicked it."

"She ok?"

"She's fine. But don't you be doing any work you are not feelin' up for."

"I'm fine, Ma."

"Are you sure? What does your doctor say?"

Jack was feelin' impressed that his Ma even remembered he was sick. Seemed like no one gave a damn the night before, but he just shrugged and inhaled a sausage.

She nodded, seemed satisfied, and answered with, "I'm going to go get ready."

After his parents left for church, Jack busied himself with that paddock fence. It was something practical to be doing ta not be thinking, but he couldn't help but wonder what got inta a horse ta make it kick at a fence. More than one had done it, and they'd had a horse go lame years ago from getting a leg stuck in the fence, but it didn't make much sense. They had plenty a food and room, and nothin' outside the fence cept'n baldies and coyotes. Jack guessed some horses just felt the need ta be free, even when they was, if not loved, at least provided for. It was a feeling he could understand, and he felt bed remaking the fence, but knew it was for the horses' good. Lot of danger out there in the world.

He ate dinner with his parents, silence hanging over them and thick. Jack inquired about the stock, about the chickens, about the church folk, mostly getting' one-word answers from both his parents. Feelin' tired, he got up ta head ta bed right after dinner. Heard his dad call after him up the stairs, "You don't shoot that horse and I will."

"I'll get to it." It was the only response Jack could muster, though it weighed on his mind to know the horse was suffering every minute of the rest of his not-too-much-longer existence. If he'd a been any kind a man, if he'd a been Ennis del Mar, that horse woulda been buried by sundown today. Laid in bed for a while wondering what sort of man it was he was. Took him a long time to admit he was queer, and now he was sick, but what the hell else was he? The no-good pissant LD said? The thankless fuckup his daddy thought of? Or was he Ennis's romantic fool? Fuck if he knew, and he fell asleep with more questions than answers.

Monday came, and Jack was going ta look for a clutch for the old truck. Bobby never did learn manual transmission. Lureen'd gone ahead and told him ta drive Jack's truck without even asking Jack, and that's how that was.

The day started out fair for approachin' mid-November, colder than last week, but the forecast was callin' for snow. He started off at the most local junkyard in Lightning Flat, but they didn't have any truck matchin' his make n' model well 'nough, wrinklin' their noses that he drove a Ford (they were die-hard Chevy people, it seemed, and not above judgin'). Jack simply heaved a sigh and headed South to Gillette.

The junkyard in Gillette was bigger, and even had a truck his make and model, but lucky him, the clutch on it was shot. But the time they were done pokin' around for another model that might fit the bill, the air had found its bitter cold, and the wind was blowing strong towards the east. Jack thanked the men there heartily and headed downtown ta just buy one from a auto-parts store.

Shit fuck damn almighty, the only one auto parts store in Gillette was fuckin' closed. Sign on the door notified hopeful customers that the owner was celebratin' the birth of a grandbaby and would reopen the store tomorrow.

Not over eager to head back to his folk's ranch anyway, Jack bit the bullet and decided ta follow the flat wide roads ta Casper, check in on the junk yard there, and surely they had a parts store or two.

But somehow his truck just steered itself right on through Casper, Jack lost in his thoughts, or pretendin' ta be. He'd already driven for hours, south inta central Wyoming, and now his body was steering itself.

A couple hours later, snow startin' ta fall, drivin' west against the wind, Jack stopped for coffee and gas in a little roadside waylay. Pullin' out, he noticed just how bad the clutch was, and figured he had better get himself one in Riverton.

Was only then the thought hit him like a ton of brick. Why the fuck was he goin' a Riverton? What did he hope ta accomplish? He knew he hadn't been thinkin' with a single brain cell, and told himself it was his penis steering the truck, though he knew it was another body part. Not really sure what ta do now, havin' driven so many hours for no real reason, Jack pulled off on the side of the road, keepin' company with a sign readin' "Riverton 95 miles."

The wind was cold, but the snow was light still, the road deserted, and he got up out a the cab ta walk around a bit, clear his thoughts, wake up his brain, and figure out what the fuck he thought he was doin'.

He pulled out a smoke and leaned against the grill. Not a single car went by while he was smokin', though he took the cigarette slow, not wanting ta make the decision he knew he had to. He simply didn't have the emotional fortitude right now ta deal with Ennis turnin' him away. He'd been down that road ta Riverton before, and not eager ta repeat it. He'd been strong and young then, lots ta lose, and lost it all, but now, if it was possible, he had more to lose, and less strength, so he knew it was a mistake. Staring westward along the highway he imaged he could feel Ennis movin' about his work day on the ranch, day near about ta come to an end. Squeezing his cigarette under the heel of his boot, puttin' his foot down, and squeezin' his heart shut, closin' his eyes against the fast-gatherin' snow and realizin' he better get home afore it turned inta a right storm, Jack climbed on back inta the truck. He started it, cranking the heat up, put it in gear, and peeled back off down the highway, fixin' ta make a big fuckin' U-turn in the middle a US-26.

The first think Jack noticed when he eased off the clutch was a griding noise, an' that started his adrenaline, but then it got worse and he realized he was driftin' down the highway. Pullin' over just past the mileage sign, Jack felt the muscles in his body weaken with resignation. But resignation don't mean a person ain't angry and willin' a fight, an' he knew somethin' 'bout that already, so he climbed back out a his truck, and yelled triumphantly, as if it might spook the truck inta restarting, "You fuckin' piece of PISS SHIT!" He capped the sentence off with a mighty fine kick, leather boot 'gainst metal trim.

And there Jack was, a few feet less than ninety five miles from Riverton, snowstorm kickin' up strong around him, with one fuckin' busted clutch.

_Fuck._ Jack guessed plenty a people froze ta death just this way. The sun was setting for good now, late afternoon settlin' in, storm kickin' up, and he wasn't expectin' many people ta be on the road. The temperatures were dropping. He had some gas in the tank, but not enough ta last the night if it should come to that. _Fuck._ Not one to panic easily in a situation he had so little control over, Jack walked around the truck a couple times. When no ideas occurred to him that way, he pulled out another cigarette and sat in the ditch, legs straddling the space. Jack felt death hovering, cold, and in a ditch on the side a the road, just like Ennis always feared. He laughed and started in on a fourth cigarette, feet already nice and numb, when he saw headlights along the eastern horizon, headed his way.

Jack jumped to his feet and went to the road. He knew his chance when he saw it, and wasn't about to freeze to death on the side a 26, ninety five miles to Riverton like a mark of iniquity on his brow. He turned on the truck, hit the lights and flashers, and stood in the brightness of his high beams on the road, scared of being hit, but more scared of being missed altogether. The snow was coming hard, blowin' him cold from the North again, gusting in eddys on the road, and dimming the oncoming vision of salvation.

Jack didn't need to worry so much. The vehicle pulled over, a hulking palomino-yellow Ford van. An overweight bloat of a man leaned over the passenger seat ta pull the lock up, and even pawed at the door handle for Jack. He looked somethin' like LD, but with a kinder face.

"Hello! Have some car trouble?" The man's voice was loud even in the snowy hush.

"Yeah, you bet."

"Climb on in!"

"Thank you, friend. Had me some bad luck taday an' I don't need ta be dyin' in no snowstorm on top of it," Jack said, climbin' in.

"You headed ta Riverton?"

Jack didn't even know what the answer to that was, so instead he said, "I'll go 'bout most anywhere yer headed, at this point," an eager smile lightin' his face.

The man laughed warmly, jutted out a swollen hand. "Jeff Jacobsen."

"Jack Twist."Jack took it, feeling his icy fingers warmed by that foreign paw. But it was a bit sweaty, too, and he resisted the urge to swipe his hands across his jeans as Jeff pulled back out onta the highway.

"So where _were_ you headed?"

Jack still didn't know what to say, so he just said, "Well, yeah, Riverton. But I pulled off ta piss, and the clutch went out as I was pullin' back on." Not a total lie. Jack had pissed by the side of that Riverton sign, near 'bouts freezin' his dick off in the doin'.

"That's no good! Tell you what, gettin' stranded in a storm like this could mean bad news, bad news."

By this time Jack mostly wished the man would shut up. Not to encourage Jeff, Jack answered, "Yup."

It seemed a work. Every few miles Jeff would pipe up about the weather especially, at times mumbling on and on about it and how remarkable it was, though Jack had lived in Wyomin' long enough to know November snow wasn't the least bit remarkable. But Jeff Jacobsen seemed a need to think everything was a bit remarkable. He would talk on 'bout how well the heater was workin', like it was breakin' a world record. He talked 'bout how many geese he'd seen that day, 'bout how unusual it was to give someone a hitch. Jack found that silence and the occasional "yup" worked just fine on the man. _Maybe this is my punishment for talkin' at Ennis too much._

Not soon enough, they were approaching the outskirts a Riverton.

"You want me to drop you at the gas station?"

"Reckon it's too late to tow me."

"Yup, it probably is. Do you know someone, like me to drop you there?"

But Jack was hardly listening, so focused was he on a sign ahead that signaled that drug that alone could erase this godforsaken day. "You can just drop me at that tavern, friend."

"The Wolf Ears? No problem. They make a really good beef sandwich, if you're hungry."

Jack was starving, but food was no longer the focus a his attention. He mumbled a thanks to Jeff, and stalked across the small lot toward the bar. Lureen said he drank too much, that he couldn't go a day without, but Jack figured he'd earned his liquor today, and was plannin' on seeing just how much he could hold. Some part of his brain vaguely registered that Ennis was around on the outskirts of this town somewheres, newly moved to a trailer on his boss's property, where a few other hands had trailers too. Jack knew a few things 'bout how Ennis lived, but didn't have the faintest clue what Ennis's boss's name was. Had did have a very big clue that, whatever he was gonna do for lodging tonight, it would have to wait on the whiskey.

Snow was falling thick and sticking in his eyebrows and lashes, cakin' on his jacket. Jack grabbed the door handle with conviction and determination. Inside the door, he took a second, lettin' his eyes adjust, face feelin' flushed from sudden heat, fingers tinglin'. The place had a dark, wooden, cozy look, especially in light a the blizzard goin' on outside. Friends seemed ta know each other, and a couple men were dancing with their gals to the sounds of a jukebox. Jack liked the looks of the place.

He took a few steps in and seated himself at a table. He usually preferred the bar where he might be able to make conversation, but he wasn't in a chatting mood, and besides, the bar looked full. Not three minutes after he'd been there, efficient as a schoolmarm, a slender waitress with a head full of blond curls and a million dollar smile was introducing herself and askin' him his drink preference.

The words "whiskey, double" were on the tip of his tongue, but died, soundless, as her name seeped into his brain. C_assie. Where I heard that name before and why's it make me mad?_

"_Been puttin' the blocks to a good-lookin' little gal over in Riverton. Waitresses part-time."_ Just this past week, Ennis tol' Jack that gal's name was Cassie. And here was Cassie, the Riverton waitress, askin' for John C. Twist, Jr.'s drink order, wearin' concern on her face from Jack's silence.

This was her. The girl who'd sat to meals with Ennis's girls. The girl who'd shared not just his body, but his bed. Jack tried not to imagine her with her arm 'round Ennis, or even worse, Ennis's arm 'round her. Tried not to imagine them hand in hand, or leanin' together at a drive-thru, or kissing, that firm but plastic mouth Jack knew too well pressed up against her plush lips. Tried not ta imagine that strong, angry-red dick Jack dreamed of at night pushed deep in... _Fuck. _Tried but failed.

Instead of assertin' his need fer whiskey, he found himself sayin, "You know Ennis del Mar?" _What the fuck I say that for? Just wish I could tell her I'm the reason he left her. Wish I could tell her she made a move on my man.__Wish I could tell her my name was the one Ennis was whispering in his head when he come in her._ Jack seemed a hate her more than Alma, which was plain, because Ennis had made commitments to Alma before he'd known Jack, but he'd made commitments to Cassie after, and that was worse.

_And what is it you do, Jack? You never fuck Lureen? Hell, not much any more, and that was one mistake I wish I could take back. But what 'bout Randall. Don't you let him fuck you?But I never led him on 'bout no future or relationship. I got feelin's for him, sure. He's a good friend. Wish he would get it through his head that he won't never be nothin' more._

Her big, fake smile slipped, eyes flickerin', lettin' Jack know that she'd thought she was in some commitment with Ennis fer sure. Jack didn't have any clue how long 'go they'd broke up, but she wasn't quite over it, that was plain. "Yeah I know him." She looked utterly wary. "You a friend a his?"

_A friend. There's that word again._ "Yeah," Jack stuck out his hand hoping to make a good impression on her, for Ennis's sake if no other, "Jack Twist. Old friend. Thought I recognized yer name." He took her extended hand, gave a big salesman smile, and instead of shakin' it like she clearly expected, he raised it to his lips. There, he branded her with his own fierce heat, his lips against the soft girlish skin, but felt that brand had plenty a Ennis in it, his own private joke, his chance to have what Ennis had. Jack Twist had kissed the waitress Cassie, too. Another thing ta bind them.

"Well," she seemed to have softened some too, "I didn't know he had any friends. He never mentioned you." Jack smiled bitter towards the table. _No, he wouldn't, would he? And how many times has Randall heard the name Ennis del Mar. Took fuckin' many, for starters._ "He usually doesn't come in until 8:30 or so on Mondays, so I'll make sure he sees you."

Jack thought his heart might have stopped altogether in his chest. All he had to do was sit here and do nothing for a half hour hour, and the shittiest day of his life was going to deliver Ennis del Mar straight into his hands. He knew it was all too good to be true, just like that lark song, but maybe Jack had simply forgotten all the good that could come true when you wasn't lookin. Jack had learned young that he didn't know nothin' 'bout knowin', but it seemed he had forgot that again.

"Thank you ma'am. In the meantime, I'd sure like a whiskey, double, straight up." She smiled warmishly and whisked ta do Jack's bidding. Jack had ta admit she had a tight little rear end, and showed it off well. 'Bout as pretty a woman as Ennis could a found, good lookin' fer sure. He was tempted a wonder why a cute lil fiery thing like her would see anything in a old, quiet cowboy, but it certainly weren't the first time a fiery energy had been bound to that cool stone. She brung the whiskey, and he downed it fast, orderin' up two more, and plannin' a be good and drunk by 8:30.

An' he was. He was slumpin' back in his chair, stomach heavy with a full day's worth of calories comin' from whiskey alone, hat pulled low over his eyes. He had a sense a butterflies flappin' around in his stomach, remindin' him of the yellow swallowtails that used a like the summer wildflowers up on Brokeback. Ain't seen them in many years, always goin' when it was too cold for butterflies, but they was flappin' again inside Jack this time.

Jack nearly felt Ennis before he saw 'im, Ennis's long legs comin' through the tavern door. Jack could only see his legs under his dark hat pulled low, and Ennis quickly headed for an empty place at the far end a the bar. Sitting down and orderin' a beer, Jack watched him close, but from a safe distance of Ennis thinkin' he was in Lightnin' Flat. Jack thought Ennis del Mar was made ta sit the leather-top stool of the Wolf Ears Bar. For a moment Jack felt like Ennis should a felt him there, like electricity in the air, like Jack was feelin'. There he was, Ennis, Jack's Ennis, acting like Jack wasn't twenty five feet away. He was what Jack needed. Jack's man. Jack himself in a way, or one of the main ingredients. And Jack knew then that this was why he'd held his pace through Casper, and if this was as close as he got, he couldn't regret it, even with the snow and shitty clutch.

Jack guessed he was the only one who noticed that Ennis's pants were too low and too big, an' his shirt too small, as they broke their chaste tryst and showed Jack a bit of crack he was well-equipped to appreciate. And appreciate he did. Nothin' chaste 'bout that ass, he knew, and he felt the drool startin' a puddle behind his lower lip.

Cassie was movin' behind the bar to pour Jack more whiskey, Ennis avoidin' her hard. Still, she saw him, leaned over with annoyance on her face ta talk. She pointed in the direction of Jack, and put Jack's whiskey on a tray with some other drinks. Cassie swooped on by, dropped the whiskey without a pause, and moved on.

Jack couldn't see Ennis's face from his vantage point, but he could guess the look Ennis was making at the vacant air where Cassie once stood. Jack turned his head just a hair's breadth, and caught Ennis turn towards him from the bar, makin' a face like he'd maybe seen a purple people eater instead of a friend. Ennis gripped his beer too tightly and parted the tide of tables fast. His boots scuffed the dirty wooden floor, and the chair across Jack creaked as Ennis sat down. Jack still wasn't looking at his face, both hats pulled low, but he saw Ennis's elbows come to rest on the table. Ennis was leanin' forward. Likely all the sign he'd get. Jack slowly released his breath; he'd been scared as a whore in hell, but not willing ta let Ennis know that.

"What you doin' here, huh?" There was a silver tint to Ennis' harsh voice, matchin' the moonlight off snow. Except it was a new moon now.

Where had Jack heard those words before? He knew he shouldn't never have come to Riverton. Christ, he'd even tried the fuck not to, but something inside of him had prayed a different prayer, and some God of Trucks had heard it alright. Using one tipsy finger to push up the brow of his hat, he mimicked Ennis's stance on the table. "Fuckin' clutch wore out 'bout ninety five miles east a here." He was tryin' to keep his face neutral-- knew the grin he was wearin' inside would make him look like a romantic girl to Ennis, but also knew he wasn't no good at hidin 'em, and couldn't fer long.

"What was you doin' ninety five miles east a here?"

"Tryin' not the fuck ta get to Riverton?"

"Huh?"

Jack finally lost it and shot his signature shit-eatin' grin 'cross the table. He chuckled a bit, shakin' his head. "Member how I told you 'bout Bobby and the clutch? I went on a hunt for a new one. None in Lightnin' Flat, none in Gillette. Somehow managed to pass right on through Casper--"

"Well it ain't easy to miss."

"Guess I was a little occupied." Jack's voice carried a hidden song. "Anyways, good Samaritan, Jeff somethin', gave me a ride to town."

"Well, that's mighty lucky. Snowin' like a bitch out there."

"So I noticed."

The silence pulled in thick. There hadn't even been a hello. They'd seen each other day before yesterday, but that didn't change much. Jack was a little afraid of spookin' Ennis in public, and Ennis was probably afraid of public in general. After a couple minutes and a couple whiskeys, Jack rekindled conversation.

"So I, uh, met Cassie."

"Yup."

That didn't go over too well. Ennis must a felt his turn was next, though.

"You talk ta yer folks."

"Hell yes. Tell you whut. Think they don't give a good goddamn."

"Aw, you know that ain't true."

"Do I?" Jack felt brave and made his eyes meet Ennis's. Ennis flinched away first.

"You got Lureen."

Jack laughed at that. After a pause and another steady breath taken in the form a whiskey, Jack added, "Friend, I got nothin' but myself and a busted-ass truck." For a brief second Jack remembered all of Ennis's new tunes this past week and thought the man might protest, but Ennis gave a little understanding nod like what Jack said was the truth, and Jack crashed back to the real world in a whirl of whiskey and stomach pain. He nodded back, rendered speechless for a moment by the taste of disappointment in something he vaguely knew he'd been foolish to hope for.

"So, uh, where are you, uh, what're you gonna do 'bout your truck?"

"Reckon I'll get it in the mornin' when the storm clears. Get a tow back here, replace the clutch."

"Replace it yourself?"

"Hell, yes. You know, I ain't so helpless when it comes ta cars."

Ennis's lip turned up at that. Probably he figured he knew different.

Jack looped an arm over the back a the chair, relaxing into the company, and sipped again, noticing he wasn't drinking so fast now that he had a friend.

After a few minutes of silence, Jack broached the obvious subject. "Wasn't there a little motel block or two over, here? Thought I saw one. I can just stay there so's I'm near the station in the morning."

Ennis's eyes became as unreadable as a road sign in the blowing snow. After a few moments, he said low, "No need ta spend yer money, Jack. I have a place."

"Easier ta get it towed this way, friend."

"Drop you on by. Gotta fetch some things from town for work anyways."

"You, uh, want me to." It wasn't really a question.

"Just, I hate ta waste yer money, Jack. Hell, I got chair I can sleep in."

Jack was taken aback by that, but this was Ennis, and sometimes his fears weren't quite rational. Jack had ta admit he was a little nervous to see where Ennis was living. Ennis was probably worried that Jack would think down on him, but Jack knew that weren't possible. Jack was worried Ennis lived in a utter shithole and didn't take care a himself proper. Hell, worried wasn't even the right word. He knew it. But knowin' and seein' was two different things.

Jack nodded. "Alright, then." He paid what he figgured was his bill, Ennis pullin' out cash ta do the same. Jack wasn't eager ta talk to Cassie again, and he figured Ennis was feeling sort a the same 'bout that.

The night was colder now, but the blowing snow didn't hurt so bad with Ennis right beside him.

Jack headed straight to the passenger side of Ennis's unlocked truck, climbing in out of the cold. Never ridden in Ennis's truck before. Not once. Not never.

Ennis climbed in fast against the wind and started the engine. For a heartbreaking moment, though, they didn't go nowhere, and Jack wondered if maybe Ennis had changed his mind or some'in'. He was about to ask if he should get out and walk to the motel, like the pathetic shit he was, when he saw Ennis starin' at a small bruise on Jack's wrist. Green and yellow peaking out under shirtsleeve and parka, and Jack knew right away what it was from, and why it had caught Ennis's eye. That night in the mud, when Ennis chose ta lie in that mud with Jack, while they was goin' at it, Ennis had grabbed his wrist. Not like a man grabs a wrist durin' sex, ta hold someone down, but mostly like Ennis was tryin' ta hold himself up, or hold Jack to him. Gripped so tight he'd left a welt. And there it was, not a couple days old, a mark of mutual muddiness. Jack felt a stupid grin risin' to his face.

Ennis put the truck in gear and gave it gas, peelin' them out of the parkin' lot, runnin' full-throttle again. long. At least this time, unlike all the others, Ennis was findin' him shelter from the icy storm.

They rode in silence, pullin' up at a small silver air streamer, well past its age a luxury. Ennis rushed to open the door for Jack. Once inside, Jack saw what he knew he was goin' a see-- a shitty one-room trailer with hardly any furniture, one cot an' two chairs. A couple chipped, dirty mugs and plates wallpapered the kitchen counter. It was 'bout as different from Jack's house in Childress as you could go before bein' in Mexico. Jack knew he couldn't say anythin' 'bout that, Ennis givin' him a sign of trust to finally let the rich businessman Jack see where he lived. Hell, Jack hadn't growed up with too much better, and didn't see no reason ta judge. He'd rather live in a one room air streamer with Ennis than in the fuckin' White House with a harem of Lureens and Randalls.

Sagging on the cot without preamble, Jack heaved a sigh, glad for the moderate warm of the interior. "God, I am so fuckin' tired after today, you wouldn't believe." He scrubbed a hand over his face, and scratched at his nine-o'-clock shadow.

Ennis was tryin' a clean up his kitchen a bit. "I bet." He sounded distracted.

"Hell, Ennis, you mind if I use your shower?"

"Go 'head."

Jack struggled to his feet. Once in the shower, he relished in the warm water. He was awful glad the snows come after they came off the mountain. This would a been a kicker of a storm up there.

He emerged in his dirty boxers and nothing else, still wet.

Ennis didn't even hazard a glance, keepin' his head down while he talked to Jack. "You feelin' alright? Drank a lot. Want me a make you some food?"

Jack was instantly touched. How did that man say in a couple words what he'd ached for his parents to say to him his whole life-- that he was valued, cared for, loved, an' needed? Jack just shook his head. "Shit, I'm just tired." Poking the cot a couple times, Jack pulled back the covers. Ennis had said he'd sleep in a chair, but Jack assumed that was some sort of bluff. The cot was barely big enough for the two a them, but it'd do. "You got some more blankets? I don't wanna put those clothes back on, but this place is godawful cold, Ennis."

"Uh." Ennis swiped his hands on his pants and looked around his trailer like he was seein' it for the first time. "Maybe in the closet." He crossed the space, poked around, and pulled out an old green blanket. Ennis threw it to Jack across the room. "All I got."

Jack nodded, sagging down on to the couch. "Don't mind if I call it an early night, do you?"

"Nope, g'head."

"You not ready ta turn in?"

"Um, I was just gonna, maybe straighten up 'round here some." Jack saw the place was mostly cleaner already, from the short time he'd been in the shower. He didn't know what else Ennis intended to do, but he nodded against the lumpy pillow. He had barely finished the nod when he lost his train of thought to sleep.

Jack woke up some unknown time later, noticin' that it was pitch black and freezin' cold. He shivered under the two blankets, and felt around the cot for Ennis as if he could a maybe gone missing on a cot barely big 'nough for one man let 'lone two. Slogging awake, Jack heard himself murmur through clatterin' teeth, "Ennis?" He sat up and looked around. There he was. In the chair in the living room like he'd said he'd be, teeth chatterin' away, since he'd given all his blankets to Jack. He was wide awake.

"Ennis, what the fuck? Get over here."

"Jack, I don't... this. I know the guys 'round here. They seen you here. I don't..."

"Fuck almighty, Ennis. They ain't in yer livin' room, are they? We're both cold. Just shut up and move on over here. We don't gotta do nothin'."

"Just like we didn't do nothin' last time you invited me inta your bedroll, huh?"

Jack chuckled once, and started again, gentling his voice. "C'mon, Ennis. Just come on over here already. We both losing sleep, and I, for one, want me some."

Ennis grunted, stood, and pulled up the cot's blankets. He slid under, plastering Jack flat against the wall. They both turned on their sides to have more room, and Jack held Ennis close. It wasn't their usual way to sleep, but it worked just as well. Warm through-an-through, neither was even awake long ta appreciate it.

Ennis woke with the dawn always, and the cold empty space next to Jack let him know why he'd have ta get up soon, so Ennis could drive him inta town to see about his truck. Rising, he saw Ennis fixin' scrambled eggs. Jack changed quickly into the damp and stinky clothes of the previous day's adventure, inhaled a couple eggs, and before he knew it he was bumping through Riverton in Ennis's truck 'gain. The weather was overcast and uncertain, but at least it weren't snowin', and some roads was startin' ta clear from regular traffic.

Jack hopped out at the service station with a "See you later." Ennis answered with a "yup" before they parted for their day alone.

Jack went with a tall, quiet tow-truck driver named Mark on the journey to recover his truck. No sooner did they get there and get it hooked up for a tow, than they were turnin' back. Jack's life was always turnin' back towards Riverton, weather uncertain, but this time Ennis was expectin' him. Ennis had invited him. And the sun was thinking about breaking through the clouds. But thinking about return trips made Jack realize it weren't too long before he had a couple that pointed him away from Riverton, so he shut up his thoughts.

Jack managed to get the clutch-less Ford towed to Ennis's trailer, picking up a new clutch in town on tis was through. The mechanic knew Ennis, in that incomplete sense that anyone who wasn't Jack Twist might a known Ennis from livin' their whole life in the same town as him, and Jack explained he was a friend from Texas, comin' a visit Ennis, when the clutch gave out on account of his son. The mechanic, Chris, was surprised ta know Ennis had a friend from as far away as Texas, him not bein' one ta have any friends. Jack had ta explain how they'd met on a job in Wyoming, but Chris, who wasn't really nosy and didn't really care, was more than satisfied with that.

Ennis came home around dinnertime with a grocery bag of bread, cheese, canned veggies, beer, cola, and hot dogs. Jack filled the rest of daylight by fiddlin' with the truck, while Ennis made food. Jack was pleased to fill his stomach with the fruits of Ennis's labor.

Exhausted, probably from his sickness, Jack took ta bed not long after dinner. He felt like a woman for bein' so tired, but he didn't even know how to begin makin' apologies for that, so he didn't. Just said how he felt, and crawled under covers. Jack expected Ennis to follow soon after, but was asleep long before he could confirm that.

Jack awoke to an empty bed again, but this time an eerie white light filtered in through the trailer windows, its angles awkward and piercing. Jack, confused and still in half a dream, stumbled to the door and swung it open, revealing Ennis, shirt untucked and unchaste butt-crack fully-illuminated by a small flood lamp, shoulder deep in Jack's truck.

"Ennis? What in hell? What time's it?"

Ennis shrugged but didn't answer. Jack stumbled back inside and found his watch. Two eleven.

"Ennis! It's two in the mornin'. I can fix my truck tomorrah!"

"'Bout ta be fixed now." Ennis called over his shoulder, not pausing from his work.

Jack stepped back from the door, letting it shutter closed in front of him. He felt like somethin' warm had been pulled out of his insides. Ennis was so fuckin' eager to have him gone, he was willing to stay up all night workin' for it. _Damn. That hurts like a bitch._

Jack lay back down, but try hard as he might, he couldn't get warm enough ta sleep for a good long while.

When Jack woke again, the trailer was empty, his truck was fixed, and a small piece of scrap paper taped to the kitchen table proclaimed, "See ya bud drive safe." Jack got the message loud n' clear, and for an instant he thought he'd rather be at his parents' place than here anyway. He could feel plenty of bitter risin' up. Even so, he scribbled a phone number at the bottom a the sheet, his ma's, before hopping in his truck and peelin' out of there like it wasn't the one place in the world he most wanted ta be.

The drive back felt fuckin' long, still overcast, no snow. He wondered what his parents thought had happened to him, but even doubted they'd spent much energy on worryin'. Jack disappeared overnight in Lightning Flat sometimes ta drink, and, given his condition, a two-night bender wasn't totally un-called-for.

Only too late did he realize he'd spent another two nights with Ennis, and hadn't so much as got ta touch that man once in a nice, sinful way. Still, he was smiling when he thought about it. Sometimes, with him and Ennis, they got so fuckin' lost in each other's presence, they lost all kind a common sense. Sex would a made sense, but Ennis seemed to have some kinda thing 'bout it bein' in his neighborhood. Jack would a traded the sex for the slumber the way it had been, anyway, and he'd been plannin' on a motel alone, so he didn't think he ought a be complainin' none. Didn't never stop him, though.

The longer he drove, the more he got ta thinkin' 'bout that note, and not the tender sleep. Sometimes he really didn' know what the fuck was goin' on inside Ennis's head. He felt like a little kid with an erector set he didn't understand or somethin'. Ennis was some kind a complex. Eventually that frustration an' sadness wore on Jack, takin' him straight to angry. His fury blinked with yellow lines, held steady around the turns in no-passing zones, burned black up through fresh-fallen snow. By the time the sun had set, anger was mostly all he was feelin'. _Fuck Ennis. Fuck him. Send me away like some stray dog. Knew I shouldn't never have gone to Riverton. Knew he was goin' a do that. For a day there I thought he might even treat me like a decent human being, but he stayed up all night so's I could get the fuck away from him. Well I did. Hope he's happy._

If Jack were to be completely fair, there was some place inside a him that could still appreciate all the nice things Ennis gave him in that day, but even that soft side a himself couldn't make no sense out a that note.

He clenched the wheel 'til his hands were red and his knuckles white. His stomach was sour. His blood pressure shot up, an' he could feel the vein in his neck standin' up ta be counted. He might a threw a dirty punch now if he could a got within two feet a Ennis del Mar, but as it was, all he could do was punch the air, an' he did so, with his words, cursin' Ennis with every one. The truck listened patiently, though the man on the radio was less polite. That only made Jack madder. Throwin' up a cloud a pebbles as he hit his parents' drive, he was greeted by the last sight in the world he wanted a see.

"You goin' a shoot Farley?"

"Dad, we can call a vet."

"Ain't gonna be callin' no vet on my dime." And John Twist was movin' towards the barn, shotgun in hand.

Jack tried to stand between John and the barn, but John hit him hard in the chest with the butt a the shotgun. Staggerin' backwards a foot, Jack didn't even hesitate before he recovered an' launched himself at his old man.

But John was tough, kept the gun between him and Jack, all the time mutterin' vile words too low for Ruth to hear from inside, 'bout how Jack was a cocksucker. 'Bout how Jack wasn't no kind a man. 'Bout how Jack had gone out on a fuck-fest and left a horse ta suffer for two days. 'Bout how that's why Jack deserved ta die. 'Bout how that's why Jack's man didn't want no part of him.

That was it. Ennis must not a wanted no part a Jack, and Ennis find out he left a horse ta suffer, too, he sure as hell wouldn'a wanted no part a Jack. 'Course, if his daddy cared so damn much, he would a shot Farley himself, but John Twist cared more about hurtin' Jack than preventin' sufferin', and that sure's hell made John a worse man.

Movin' under the force a some deep hurts, Jack grabbed the shotgun from his dad. A good seventy steps brought him to the horse barn. He couldn't even look in Farley's eyes, the horse down on the ground with sickness. Leveling the shotgun, bringing it to bear against his shoulder, knowing it would be ripe an' ready ta go in his old man's hands, Jack didn't think, just pulled the trigger. The recoil shocked him, not used to usin' a shotgun. There was a spray of blood an' somethin' else that wasn't quite liquid. He stared down at the gun, knowin' he should a used somethin' else than a shotgun, but he'd taken whatever the fuck his father'd given him, done whatever his father'd told him. Jack couldn't give the old man the satisfaction of gettin' remorseful. Spinnin' in time ta see John Twist spit just outside the barn, Jack simply said, "Old fucker, you gave me a shotgun and now I get a hell of a mess ta clean up."

Jack stormed off past John and in to a meal of beef and vegetable soup. He didn't eat much of it, but stared into it, thinking how much it looked like... _Fuck_.

Clean it up he did, just after dinner. John even helped some with buryin' Farley. They wiped down the stall tagether. Jack felt good 'bout doing the work, hard labor makin' his muscles ache, retribution his father wouldn't see.

They were done sometime around two am, and Jack took a long, hot shower before hitting the tiny mattress. He sure as hell didn't care if it was girly or not, and no one was watchin', so he took them two shirts into bed with him. The night's events had rattled him some, but not because of the horse. He'd done just exactly what his daddy wanted, just how he'd wanted, and that couldn't never be right.

In the morning he packed his things, shirts included. He ate pancakes with his Ma, his Dad long gone ta work the ranch. Ruth patted him gently on the back and told him to take care a his health. He promised he would, hugged her genuine, and, tryin' not to think or feel or care enough ta look back, he hit the long, flat road towards Texas and the mid-day sun.


	5. Chapter 5: White Oak Tree

Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, and I make no profit from them.

AN: Thanks to everyone who helped me make this chapter what it is. First my betas, oral and written: Marakeshsparrow!Jess, Melissa, and Max. I also want to thank Kumari for looking over a page of this, and lending me a little bit of the concept of TWaTT Jack in this chapter.

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Chapter 5: White Oak Tree

It had always been a long drive, but the drive home was usually 'bout three times longer than the drive up, whether that violated some natural laws, or what. Jack didn't ever look forward to the trip home. He'd a liked to close his eyes an' just be wherever he wanted a be, or even where he didn't want a be, 'long as he could not be in transition no more. He didn't mind drivin' too much, feelin' like his own nervous, sour energy drained out a him, even on the bad trips like this one was, by the natural feelin' a the wind whistlin' past his hat brim. Wind used a whistle like that out on Brokeback. The hat was new. Lureen had bought it for him in July. It was solid black, which he fancied best, and had a nice ivory-and-black beaded hat band. Tucked firmly under that, the old eagle feather. If he was bein' real truthful, he had shot that eagle, after he come up it, injured from some asshole who did shoot it down out a the sky but never found the sufferin' bird. Jack flew down the road southeast, hopin' that eagle went with him.

He stopped at a little gas station ta fill up and buy some smokehouse almonds and some good, dark coffee. He balanced the almonds on one knee and fiddled with the radio, hittin' some station that was playin' the Kingston Trio.

_Hang down your head Tom Dooley. Hang down your head and cry. Hang down your head Tom Dooley. Poor boy, you're bound to die._

Jack punched the seek button, but not fast enough, not fast enough ta block out the source of private, righteous anger boilin' up in him. _If I'm gonna die like Tom Dooley, sure do wish I had the privilege of committin' some murder first. _Jack's first thought was of his old man, but Jack was such a pathetic fuck. He could barely kill a dyin' horse, let alone a livin' person. He felt like shit, like he never done a thing wrong in his life, but he still got all the punishin'. 'Cept Jack had done a thing or two wrong. His ma said it was Jesus who was punished for Jack's sins. If that were the case, Jack sure could a used with a little less punishin' himself.

He stopped 'bout six hours later ta finally release that coffee, this time at a real truck stop. Jack saw a pretty sexy lookin' youth leanin' over into a truck cab occupied by a man who reminded Jack of a rabbit somehow, lean an' jumpy. While Jack was feulin' at a pump, the boy accepted some cash, and walked on over to him. Maybe Jack's blue, sad eyes leaned a moment too long on the boy, or maybe it was somethin' else, but the kid leered a flashy smile and asked, "Help you mister?" before he scratched his groin suggestively. Something like excitement leapt up from Jack's stomach. Had been a while since he'd paid for sex. But then his face transfixed on the boy's cool gaze. The boy repeated, "Somethin' I can do ya for mister?" He couldn't have been even a year older than Bobby.

Jack found himself sauntering over to the boy, eyes fixed on the boy's, a bright blue too, an' something 'bout that youth reminded him a himself. A sudden hiss, hot breath on pale skin, as Jack leaned close to talk to the boy. "Sure as hell can." The boy grinned, but Jack continued. "You get your _scrawny ass_ out a here and back to your folks."

"Well shit. Just askin.'" The boy skulked away, visibly annoyed.

Jack sweared and spit on the ground. Knew that boy wadn't goin' a head home nor nowheres else. Probably had a old man like Jack's, but without rodeoin' know how like Jack'd had at that boy's age. Even so, both Jack and the boy had gapped their legs wide open like a two dollar suitcase ta get away from their daddies. "Shit," Jack cursed again and lit a smoke.

_This time tomorrow, reckon where I'll be. Down in some lonesome valley, hangin' from a white oak tree._

He leaned against the truck, maybe even a minute after she stopped takin' on fuel. Jack was watchin' the sky, gray and tight, not giving away a single secret. He felt he ought a be mad at Ennis, but he couldn't muster it. Nothing Ennis had done had been a total surprise. Jack picked up a small bottle a brandy at the truck stop, and tried to forget everythin'.

Even so, as he drove, Ennis settled under his skin. Jack thought over an' over what Ennis done-- not just the crap he done in Riverton, but also all them things Ennis did up on that mountain last week. 'Bout how Ennis reacted to his illness. Wantin' a do for Jack, wantin' a protect Jack. Pulling over that mounting block, makin' sure Jack could ride.

_Fuck_. Makin' sure Jack could ride. It hit Jack like a ton a bricks, and almost forty-eight hours too late, that maybe Ennis had fixed his truck as a gift and not a punishment. There was no way for Jack to know for sure just now, but the more he thought on it as he drove those long, flat highways, the more he felt sure. He'd a been too quick to assume Ennis had the worst out for him. Still, there was that note. But Christ, if Ennis had fixed his truck...

Jack felt the urge to kiss that man rise up so strong it stung in eyes. Before he knew it, he was hard with missing an' loneliness, in a way he couldn't stand, needin' it like he hadn't never needed nothin' before. He had ta pull off onto a secluded highway frontage road, parking in the shadows, even in the failing light, under a big white oak. He put both hands to work, until that white hot velvet steam rose up to fill his veins-- a soft, sweet, sated place that Ennis had first taken him to so many years before. Shakin' like a run-out horse, jaw trembling, left shoulder cramped from its unnatural reach, tears caught up in his mustache, Jack fell asleep, fly still undone, on the side of that road.

Jack felt about a hundred percent better in the morning, and resumed his trip ta Texas. Still, the need to kiss Ennis, to kiss Ennis's gift of fixin' his truck (the one he was in now! Goddamn.), to kiss Ennis's insecurities an' how he cleaned his place while Jack was there, to kiss Ennis's fear an' how he sat in that chair shiverin' 'cause Jack hadn't yet invited him ta bed like it was someplace new, the need to kiss Ennis still burned on his lips, right there on top of the last kiss Ennis had given him, all the kisses Ennis had ever given' him. Jack imagined he could store up them kisses, let them soak in, and maybe once the need got deep 'nough under his skin, it would find all those kisses stored up and be settled. Either way, Jack still felt the ghost of Ennis's lips on his own when he pulled up to his fancy Childress home on Friday evening.

Jack swung open the door, closing it with his suitcase. The first sight that greeted him was a puff of crimped blond hair on the sofa. He could only see from the back, but Jack certainly wasn't expecting to get home to find a stranger in his house. "Uh, hello?"

The pile of hair and hairspray turned to look at him, disdain and annoyance leaking from her green eyes. "Lo," she answered, turning back to the TV. Jack could see that Bobby's favorite cable station was on-- MTV-- so this little gal must be a friend of Bobby's. Jack didn't approve of MTV and all those half-naked women shakin' their asses on the TV screen, but Lureen let Bobby watch it, and Lureen was the final rules 'round here.

Givin' one last confused look to the strange girl who seemed to occupy the house alone with him, Jack headed on down the hallway to dump his stuff on the bed. Headin' back, he ran into Bobby comin' out a the bathroom.

"Hey." Jack was happy to see his son, though it looked like the boy had probably grown another inch in the two weeks Jack'd been gone. Bobby was already six foot, without a generous ruler. He had matte brown hair in a nest on his head, dull blue eyes more like Jack's ma's, and despite his height, he looked frail. The boy had not yet filled out widthwise, skinny-ish, despite being on the football team. Still, he was fast, and made a hell of a wide receiver already, only in his junior year and a starter. Bobby was a quiet boy, unless he was sellin', 'cause he had that knack like his daddy. His oval chin was capped off with a dusting of teenage stubble and a sprinkle of teenage acne.

"Hey," Bobby answered, and ducked away down the hallway towards the living room.

Jack pursued. "How that truck work out?"

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

"Got a flat out on Emcey Road. Ed McGrady come upon me, changed it for me. Got the donut on now."

Ed McGrady. Ed McGrady who'd hissed vile words in Jack's ear. Jack shivered to think what would a happened if it'd been Jack out on Emcey Road and not Bobby, but as it was McGrady was a high school football fan, and probably more than thrilled to give Bobby the business end of a tire iron. Probably would a given Jack the pleasure end.

"Your mama takin' care a that?"

"She said you gotta show me how ta change a tire, an' take me ta get the new one patched."

"Sure thing." Jack pulled out a beer when they got to the kitchen. Bobby grabbed two sodas and was heading for the living room already. Jack continued to pursue.

"Say, Bobby, you wanna introduce me to yer lady friend?"

"Dad, can I get cable in my room?" The girl was givin' more annoyed looks at Jack.

"No, son, ya can't. Now, you wanna introduce me to yer lady friend, or should I introduce myself."

Bobby heaved a teenage boy-sized sigh, and mumbled. "Dad, Dawn, Dawn, this is my dad." He plunked himself down on the couch to watch the music videos with her.

Jack rolled his eyes, and wandered back into the kitchen. The clock read five thirty six. Lureen was usually home at six o'clock. Bobby got home from school around four o'clock. Jack had arrived smack dab in the middle a no man's land, not wanted in Childress, not needed by Bobby. Tomorrow was Saturday and he could go work out tire stuff with Bobby, but tonight was Friday night, and mark his words, Bobby would go off with some friends, to a video arcade or a pizza place. Lureen would lock herself up in an office and negotiate and plot business deals 'til her phone stuck to her ear with sweat. Jack wasn't needed or wanted here, so, barely home long enough to pop open the one bottle of beer, Jack was back in his truck. He knew where he was going, and he didn't have ta put in a phone call, because this was prearranged.

The truck seemed to know it's own way to Roy Taylor's little cabin on Lake Kemp, though it wasn't a short drive, 'specially after two days a drivin'. It was on a sort of brushy land, with one big, softwood cedar tree shading the cabin. The lake was well-stocked in the spring. Randall wasn't supposed to use it as much as he did. Roy Taylor once voiced suspicions that Randall was takin' a gal there, an' knowin' LaShawn, he'd more or less blessed Randall's affair, puffin' a "Hell, I don't use it anyway." Or at least, that's how Randall tol' the story.

Randall's large black Ford was already in the gravel driveway. Jack pulled on up besides it, and sunk out of his truck, carryin' his beer bottle. Randall was comin' outside now. "Hello! You have a good trip?," the man boomed across the small space.

Jack stopped, feeling sad and distant and like he shouldn't a been there, and pondered how to answer Randall's question.

_Well, Ennis said he loved me, and told me he wants to try an' do better, but then he kicked me out a his place by fixin' my clutch, my clutch that's in my truck right here and worn hard with the fingerprints a Ennis, sittin' next to Randall's truck, but then I thought maybe he wasn't tryin' a kick me out, but just fixin' my truck, and the thought made me so hopelessly gone I had to pull off the side a the road an deal with it, but also so furious I thought about havin' sex with a boy about Bobby's age, but I didn't 'cause I knew I was just mad at my daddy for makin' me shoot a horse, but it's all alright 'cause Ennis said he loved me._

But all that came out was, "Best as can be expected, I guess."

Randall held the door open, and Jack slid inside the small, two-room cabin. It had concrete floors, red plaid and pine furniture, a small bar-like kitchen, a homey fireplace, and a tiny bed and bath just off a short hallway by the kitchen. The place was lit with impossibly many lights, all with homey yellow glows and antlers glued to them somewheres. One corner of the small room had a bumper pool table that could be covered up ta turn into a card table. Randall already had the cover on, an' whiskey and tumbler out. Bless his soul. Jack spotted this unwary quarry and flew at it post-haste.

Only one tumbler into the whiskey, leanin' against the paneled walls, Randall was already movin' towards Jack. It had been two weeks for Randall, less for Jack. God, less. Not even a week.

Randall ran a rough, rancher's thumb along Jack's cheekbone. Feeling vaguely like he was wanted an' cared for, Jack leaned into it. Randall's soft voice started then, "It was a hard week on you, huh?" Jack turned to mush at the tenor.

"Shit. I... my goddamn clutch went on the side of a road. My asshole daddy made me shoot his horse. And I ain't too glad ta be home." Jack rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"But you're glad to be here, at least." Concern laced Randall's voice-- and his eyes, Jack found, as he looked up into the pine cone color. "Jack, I wish I could make this all better for you. You don't deserve it."

And just like that-- too quick-- Randall was ducking his head for a kiss. Jack moaned, knowing where this was goin' and feelin' the need of it shiver inta his groin, when suddenly he remembered his roadside release of the day before. And with it, the burning blaze of Ennis upon his lips. He turned his face at the last second, and Randall's hairy kiss grazed his cheek. Jack almost flinched from that as well. He realized, with pain, how this was all goin' a go down.

"Somethin' wrong?" Randall didn't sound too happy any more.

"I... this just... this ain't what I need right now, alright." _You ain't who I need._

"What do you need then? Want some food?"

_No. God. Fuck._ How could Jack possibly say what he was feeling? He could barely voice the whisper of his agony in his own brain. Putting into words what he craved made it hurt more, made it more real, when what he _goddamn needed_ right now was Ennis del Mar. That dimwit had sent the man he loved, he fuckin' said so himself out a his own two lips, drive on back ta Texas alone an' dyin'. Texas with a wife that didn't give a crap, and a son who didn't hardly give a crap, and a boyfriend who cared too much. A boyfriend Jack couldn't kiss, Jack couldn't fuck, because of a yellow-bellied coward a thousand miles away, and the way somethin' cracked in Jack's chest at the idea of erasing those Ennis kisses too soon. Jack felt weak and hopeless, but he felt something else. He felt strong. Strong and loved. And not by Randall. It was a bitch of a unsatisfactory situation, just like he told Ennis earlier that spring, but that situation had just got bitchier and less satisfactory, and here he was in Roy Taylor's cabin, Randall Malone tryin' like hell to smooch with him and that bruise on his wrist-- the bruise from Ennis choosin' ta lie in the mud with Jack-- were still yellow, too. Jack bet he had other bruises, bruises Randall could a seen on his body. Instead he decided to show Randall a bruise on his soul.

"Randall, look. I can't do this no more."

"Ssh, it's alright. Everything will go fine, Jack."

"Not that. I ain't... this ain't 'bout cancer."

Randall's brow pinched in confusion as Jack stepped away to rub his weary face.

"This fishin' buddy a mine, up in Wyomin'? He needs me."

"Fuck him, Jack. _I_ need you. In fact, I think right now, _you_ need _me_."

"Fuckit. It ain't about that, Randall. Jesus. Look--"

"Look, Jack, I know you have some sort of unhealthy attachment to him--"

_Yeah, it's called love._

"--but he's not here, right? So, I _am_ here." Randall's voice was low and slow.

"That's not what I'm talkin' 'bout."

"Jack, not followin'." Randall was gettin' exasperated but quick here, an' Jack saw that comin', and felt it, too.

"Christ. Randall. You an' me are close, but there ain't never gonna be more here." Jack's face was red and he'd turned slow to pin Randall with sincere eyes. "Ennis wants me to give you up. I don't know that I can do that, but I ain't about to stop hopin' on him. He needs me ta have some kind a faith in him." _Even if it kills me? What the hell is wrong with me?_

"Faith in him. Faith in what, Jack? What is he? He's nothin'. Just someone you fucked too long and ain't good at givin' up. He never done nothin' for you." Randall's storm of angry was low an' quiet, kind a like Ennis, kind a like threats. Though Randall didn't never follow through with those deep tones.

"Not true."

"Yeah? name somethin'."

"Randall, you aren't gonna win 'gainst Ennis!"

"Name one thing he _ever_ done for you when you was needin' it!"

Jack thought Randall had a point. Ennis wasn't ever there ta give him what he needed when he needed it. Hearin' the truths in Randall's words made Jack's blood boil. The sky had turned night black outside, but Jack could see-- out the Western facing slidin' doors on this end a the cabin-- a waxing crescent moon slidin' toward the horizon. He thought he might a just burst into tears of joy then.

"You can't name one thing." Randall's voice was thick. Jack though maybe Randall pitied him.

"I sure can." Jack smiled to himself. It didn't reach his lips, but Jack hoped Randall saw it in his eyes. "My problem is I can't pick just one."

Randall's jaw clenched.

Jack sighed and picked his jacket back up. "This was a mistake. How 'bout we talk about this again when we both cooled down some." Swinging into the same warm parka that had held Ennis against his heart, shielding Ennis from the world, Jack walked out under the star-studded, moon-strung sky with a confidence he didn't quite know the source of.

Slidin' into his truck, poppin' the clutch as he pulled out, Jack realized Ennis had been here all the time, always with him, in his lips, his bruise, his parka, his clutch, his heart. It didn't quite matter that Ennis was miles and miles away, because he was right here, too.

He might a shifted gears one too many times on the way home.

As Jack drove, the last a the anger bled from himself onto the blinking yellow lines, and he felt pretty bad 'bout how he'd treated Randall. It was one thing ta be spittin' mad at Ennis, to want to insult him and scream at him all day long. But that didn't give Randall the right ta do the same. Jack was allowed, because he wouldn't ever stay in that angry place. Randall, though? Hearin' Randall voice angry words 'bout Ennis, even if they might a been true, had near 'bouts turned Jack's stomach over. He would have ta have a calmer talk with Randall about it 'ventually, he knew. No one could talk 'bout Ennis like that but Jack. Jack wouldn't abide it.

Jack arrived home too soon, and found things was just as he 'spected. Lureen was punching away on an addin' machine, Bobby long gone w'Danielle, or whatever her name was.

"Jack, that you?"

Jack plopped his jacket down over a kitchen chair an' headed back to Lureen's office.

"Jack? How was your trip?," she asked.

"Alright." he went over and hugged her shoulders best he could, getting' a nose full of hairspray that made him want ta cough. She didn't even stop punchin'.

"That's good. Bobby tell ya 'bout the tire?"

"Yeah, he sure did."

The conversation floundered completely at that point, and Jack shrugged and waved his way on out a the room. Feelin' mighty low maybe 'bout not bein' more stubborn and stickin' 'round ta be seen off by Ennis, maybe 'bout givin' Randall such a cold and ornery shoulder, and even maybe a little bit 'bout not sleepin' with Randall as a big, major fuck you to Ennis, Jack went to the kitchen to fetch some drink. Bottle of whiskey in hand (and this was Lureen's expensive VSOP shit 'cause he were plum out a cheap shit, but Lureen wouldn't get too angry after somethin' a little money could replace. Hell, she was always on Jack to improve his taste in drink anyway.), Jack was thinkin' way too clearly when he dragged his suitcase with him inta the spare bedroom. It was his place to drink these days since Bobby had gotten older n' wiser, and Jack's drinkin' hours had gotten longer and more desperate. Jack felt he were comin' ta some kind a end, like maybe he shouldn't really still be alive, like maybe he really weren't.

_I met her on the mountain. There I took her life. Met her on the mountain. Stabbed her with my knife._

He spent that evenin' the best was he knew how, just drinkin' n' thinkin, jerking off once or twice. He remembered stumbling to his bag for something, when he was nearly too drunk to make the trip. At the time, the trip across his bedroom to his suitcase, an' fumblin' with the zipper, seemed somehow the most important task of his life, an' he nearly hadn't had the remainin' strength ta do it. But he had, alright. And in the mornin', when Lureen found him passed out across the guest room bed, whiskey bottle on the nightstand, and holdin' a couple a old shirts so tight 'gainst his face he might a been makin' a death shroud, he sure knew what the hell had been so important to him in the whiskey haze a the night before.

"Jack? You gotta take Bobby ta get the tire fixed."

Jack raised his head, at first hearin' Lureen muffled and distant, seein' only denim an'... _oh._ Denim an' country plaid. Jack pulled the shirts down over his face. He didn't even have much of a hangover like he would a liked. Just a little one. The pain would a taken his mind off things, but Jack reckoned he was gettin' too used to alcohol.

"Hnnh?"

"Gotta take Bobby. 'Member, the flat tire?"

Jack said something. He alone knew it was meant ta be an 'oh yeah,' but it came out sort a like "ooornheah."

"Jack." Exasperation was plain in her voice. 'parently she meant now.

"Time's it?"

"Ten thirty six." She was starring at the bedside clock when he focused on her.

"Yeah, ok. Yeah." He stumbled to his feet, feelin' awkward and comical, though Lureen weren't laughin'.

"You know your doc don't think you should be drinkin' so much."

Jack knew. He thought it was pretty funny that now he had cancer all of a sudden everyone 'spected him ta give up alcohol. He'd always drank ta make the outside world an' its pain fade away, and now there was more of it. "Like a see him get cancer an' quit drinkin' in the same month."

The side of Lureen's mouth even creased up a bit at that. She wasn't going ta press him on the drink, on account of his condition, he knew, but there was some worry 'bout her eyes.

He'd finally found his feet, and he threw the denim-n'-plaid over his right shoulder as he squeezed past her and inta the hallway.

A warm shower later, an' Jack was grabbin' a couple pieces of cheese and shepherding his only child out the door. They piled into the new truck, Bobby drivin', an' went to the store. They managed to accomplish the day's tasks-- patched one tire, went ahead and bought a full-size spare from a used tire, and taught Bobby how ta change a tire (How come he'd forgotten 'bout doin' that before? Wasn't everyone just born with that knowledge?). All day they didn't hardly exchange more'n ten words between them. The silence was comfortable, but Bobby was a teenage boy, and no doubt his thoughts were elsewhere. Like way on up inside a Dawn or Danielle or whoever that blond had been. Jack hoped Lureen'd talked ta Bobby 'bout usin' protection, doubted it, had a brief thought he ought to, but let it slide. Kids got that kind a stuff in sex ed these days anyway, didn't they? Jack wasn't really sure 'cause he hadn't been in school long enough ta go through sex ed himself. He'd sure done alright at figurin' out the jist, though.

Evenin' was cool an' calm, partly cloudy with the clouds stringin' int'resting patterns from the South to North, jagged blue breaks here in there in clouds that otherwise mirrored the long strings a highways Jack knew so well. Jack took a beer out on his South-facin' little back deck ta contemplate that stretch a cool November sky.

No one could a been more surprised than Jack when Lureen joined him out back in a matchin', though unused, wooden Adirondack. She was holdin' what looked ta be brandy in a snifter, though not much, and Jack knew it was a harder drink that Lureen preferred. He wondered what that signified, but didn't think long on it. There was somethin' he'd been meanin' ta say to Lureen, and now was gonna be the best time.

"Lureen, don't wanna be no imposition. Why don't you let Randall Malone take me ta the hospital Monday?"

Lureen froze mid-sip, and dropped her snifter back to the the ready. Her eyes likewise froze on the horizon, and her mouth twitched in the way it got when Jack did somethin' truly contrary to her plans.

"Just don't want ya ta miss more work'n you already have to."

"Yeah."

"It's fine, he's a good friend. It don't impose on him too much. He got some vacation saved up."

"Jack..." he could a noticed an angry edge sneakin' into her voice from a mile away, but she weren't more than four feet right now, so he steeled himself for it. "I got the impression we weren't goin' a talk about this."

"About whut?" His heart began to race.

She put down the brandy with calculated moves, her head cocking a little bit, but then straightening, eyes back to the horizon, then sliding down to the middle-distance of the deck floor.

"'Bout Randall. I thought that's why you didn' want me and Bobby ta go."

Jack spent a few moments spinnin' in some sort a free fall of confusion. What in hell was she talkin' about? "Whut in hell you talkin' 'bout?" He had hoped ta come up with somethin' more intelligent ta say on the subject, but there's sometimes you gotta just speak yer mind.

"Jack, I know 'bout you... I thought maybe you wanted some time-- alone, so I was gonna," her voice caught, head cocked, uncocked, which he knew by now was her sign for the struggle to hide her emotions.

"Wait, you were volunteerin' ta leave on account of--"

"I didn't know that you wanted ta go inta all that. Thought we weren't goin' a speak on it. And with Bobby..."

"Christ, Lureen, I thought you just didn't wanna be bothered with the time an' energy."

"Jack, I weren't expectin' you would ask me ta stick around, then ask me ta... ta..."

"I wadn't askin' that, Lureen. Just thought you might need ta be at work on Monday."

"Whell... I already cleared my schedule." her voice was strong and firm again, and he was nearly proud a the way she was takin' this conversation. "I thought maybe you were turnin' around on me."

"Aw, shit, Lureen."

"You ain't been seein' much a Randall lately, I guess."

"This ain't never been about Randall—"

"I know that." Her voice was snappish.

He didn't have any idea of where to take this conversation from there, this not bein' a conversation he would a ever planned on havin' with his wife. Turning to her with a heart full of ache and sympathy, even seein' that somehow he'd given her a false hope that probably she didn't need nor care 'bout, but had a carry around any way, all he could think of ta say was, "Lureen, honey, you wanna take me to the hospital on Monday, I sure would like that a lot."

She looked up at him then for the first time. Her eyes were dark and firm-- cold dry earth, but fertile still. "Don't need your pity."

"An' I wasn't aimin' ta give you any." He met her eyes beat for beat, those young, perky eyes he been lookin' at a lot over the years. Those eyes had seen him leave on more campin' trip, those eyes had seen him bore holes inta the back a L.D. An' just this very morning, those eyes had watched him cradle a couple a shirts like they was gold, an' she didn't never pass no judgment on any a those things. Her judgment was reserved for things that effected her-- for what time he took Bobby where, for what kind a prep work he was doin' on the current model, for whether or not he replaced a toilet paper roll when he'd been the one ta run out. All these years he'd been startin' ta resent her for all those judgments, and only now did he see that she could a cared less 'bout most a the secrets he was keepin', 'cause in reality they didn't effect her, an' one place Lureen liked ta live was reality.

"Alright, then. If you think that's what you want."

"I know it is."

"Ok, Jack."

"Alright." He nodded. It was set.

Lureen seemed a think so too, 'cause she rose to leave. The slidin' glass door closed behind her, and Jack thought maybe he wasn't so alone. He had a lot of people cared 'bout him in some way, least more people than, say, maybe that boy at the truck stop. Lot a people could a been worse off, and even though Jack had made a mess in his life, he made a couple friends alone the way.

Jack slept in the same bed with Lureen that night. They didn't say anything, and there was a cold silence between them, but Jack knew it meant somethin' that he was sleepin' back to back with his wife again.

Sunday morning, Lureen and Bobby went ta church with Fayette and L.D. L.D.'d survived a heart attack this past year, an' was goin' at the Good Book with renewed fervor. Jack slept through most of the church service. He probably would a slept through it either way, but he slept through it from the comfort of his own bed, which was nice.

When he finally got up an' showered, Jack bummed around the house. He had a need ta feel useful, but was pretty tired already, so he fixed odds an' ends-- a loose doorknob, a broken window screen, stuff like that. His mind was still runnin' over the fight he'd had with Randall. It'd tried for a moment ta land on Ennis instead, but right now that was feelin' too painful, Jack feelin' like he'd put him n' Ennis ta bed, for the time being, two nights before in a haze a whiskey. He'd confront that one again when he was more able. Though he did find himself starrin' inta Lureen's jewelry case just once. But it made him feel like a pretty big fool, so he left that alone.

Sunday night, Lureen'd invited her parents over for a roast, the unspoken reason bein' that Jack might be dead in forty eight hours, which made for a meal that wasn't quite as somber as maybe it should a been. It wasn't like Jack really thought he'd die on the surgeon's table. Lots a people had surgery all the time. But his doctor had had a talk with him an' Lureen on all the risks a surgery, and there was still something disconcertin' 'bout bein' cut open an' havin' organs, organs you'd used an' had just fine yer whole life, taken' out and thrown in a trash bin.

After dinner, after L.D. (with whom Jack had managed to exchange not ten words) and Fayette (who gave Jack a hug and told him to mind his health, now, in the politest sense, because if there was one thing Fayette was, it was a lady) had gone home, after Bobby had gone to his room ta talk to that girl (_Dan... Dawn, that's it_), after Lureen headed off to her office, Jack grabbed a beer and headed for the spare bedroom again. He didn't intend ta sleep there, but he had a phone call ta conduct.

It was 'bout nine o'clock when Randall picked up the phone from not six miles away.

"'Lo?"

"Hey there."

"Jack?"

"Yeah. Listen, I just wanted ta 'poligize 'bout Friday night. I got a lot a shit goin' on."

"Yeah, an' that's understandable." The silence that followed that weren't exactly comfortable like it should a been.

"Look, you ain't sore?"

"Jack... LaShawn is spending the night in town her a friend a hers. Shoppin', movies, girl stuff. Why don't you come on over."

Jack didn't even think, just said "yeah." He was in the truck before it occurred ta him that he ought a make something up ta tell Lureen. Fuckit. And not ten minutes later he was pullin' up in Randall's drive.

Randall greeted him with a tender rub ta the back and a whiskey sour. Jack did like ta think he could be greeted this was every day, but he wished it weren't Randall doin' the greetin'.

A few minutes later, they were sittin' on the couch, Jack still bein' rubbed smooth an' warm across his back and legs, up his arms. He groaned-- a deep man-like growl. He knew what he was wantin' again. Randall apparently did, too, because it didn't take three minutes before Jack was under Randall's warm body, relishing in the sense of firmness and bigness Randall seemed ta have in every part of him. He smelled like cigars and cattle, not quite cigarettes an' horses, but it was somethin', and it did not have even the slightest hint a rose water like Lureen wore.

Fingers were workin' his buttons an' buckle, workin' somethin' else too, before too long, and Jack arched up inta that, groanin' away all the pain he had been storin' up for who knew how long. _I know how long. I know exactly how long._

And just like that, he remembered how long. _Since_. _Since since since_. And Jack managed to wriggle free of Randall again, but not before Randall's hairy kiss had burned against Jack's lips and smeared the memory of other kisses.

"I gotta... I gotta." Jack couldn't hardly think straight, but he was feelin' jumpy an' a little lower, despite Randall tryin' a raise him up. _I said I fuckin' didn't wanna make no promises I couldn't keep, an' here I am tryin' a keep a promise I ain't so sure I made. But I really do wanna make that fucker do somethin' for me. Somethin' big. Really fuckin' do._ Jack groaned, another deep man-like growl, and Jack didn't know if maybe it were even the same one, but he kicked a chair before he headed straight for the bathroom. Somehow cheatin' on Ennis (_Ain't cheatin'. We ain't got nothin'._ Knew that was a lie before he thought it.) with the porcelain god wasn't so much a crime, so he curled his shoulder over the seat, an' even though it weren't really what he wanted no how, he took the release the circumstances allowed him.

Randall was lookin' sullen an' thoughtful when he came out. _Shit_._ Not this shit again._ At least they weren't fighting this time. Not yet.

"Randall..." Jack groaned.

"I got it, Jack."

"Shit, Randall. I swear ta God I didn't mean ta do this to you again. It's just askin' too much a me right now."

"Yeah, Jack? What's askin' too much? I askin' too much?" Randall, usually cool-tempered, was showin' some real bitter leakin' through. Not angry. Bitter. An' that was scarier for Jack 'cause he knew how come a man got that way.

Jack blew out a hard breath, braced his hands on his waist. "Yeah, Randall... yeah I think you are?" He didn't want a fight. Just wanted ta speak plain. "Look, I really came over ta try an' clear some air, not ta get inta this thing with you."

"What air's that?"

"I just.. just wanted ta tell you Lureen's gonna take me in tomorrah."

"Yeah? Alright. I see 'bout that now."

"Naw, hell, Randall. You're one a my best friends on earth, an' I didn't mean fer it ta go down this way. But yer just a friend!" Jack wished he could help Randall to understand. He had to say those words again. "It weren't ever gonna be like that, Randall. Not between you an' me."

"What 'bout between you an Mr. Wyomin', then? It gonna be that way?"

Jack sure as hell didn't wanna get inta that again, and he really did not 'preciate Randall bringin' it up.

"Guess I should tell you LaShawn is gonna have a baby."

"Yeah?" Jack wanted his voice to sound hopeful. He was good at soundin' hopeful it the face a the opposite.

"Yeah. Guess I was gonna tell you I was gonna stick by her anyway. So I don't got no cause ta be mad at you."

Jack knew somethin' 'bout findin' out your gal was pregnant, knew somethin' 'bout puttin' off dreams for that, knew as well 'bout bein' put off for it. Old ground, and comfortable walkin' now, for sure. "That's good. You want a boy or a girl?"

"Yeah, a boy'd be pretty good. Easier for me, probably."

Jack smiled to himself, years an' years of inside jokes flooding into his head, 'bout how easy it was ta raise a boy. Randall was in for a ride, an' no mistake, either way, but easy wasn't a word you remember the meanin' of with a boy around. "Well good luck there."

"Yup."

"No hard feelin's?"

"Jack... you under a lot of stress, and you're not feelin' too well. I think you treated me kind a lousy this weekend, but I reckon maybe you got leave to."

Jack smiled almost shyly. "Alright. I gotta head on home. This was a bad idea. I just... hell." Jack reached an arm open, and Randall slipped into it. Their hug was tight an' genuine, warm an' natural, soothin' like a waterfall, but nothin' there sparkin' like electricity. Somethin' that hadn't never been there between them still wasn't, though Jack'd imagined it was on occasion. Randall clapped him on the back.

"You think I can visit you in the hospital?"

"They gonna transfer me to the ICU afterwards. I'll, uh," Jack realized he was awfully sleepy all of a sudden, "I guess I'll talk ta Lureen 'bout sneakin' you in." He did not want to put Lureen in that position, but under the circumstances, he didn't see no choice.

"Yeah... Wait-- does Lureen know?"

"Turns out she known fer a while."

"No shit."

"Known since before you, I reckon." It was an admission of sorts, an admission that Ennis was a major part of Jack's life.

Randall nodded, somber. "She's a real lady."

"Yeah, well... she does have her moments." The wind swept through barren-now trees in a whistling sound outside a Randall's comfortable-enough home. "Anyway, I'm gonna head on home. Take care."

"Jack... you too."

Jack caught Randall's eyes, and with them his meaning. He just nodded once, added a "You know I will" because Randall couldn't read his every movement like Ennis could, and stepped back out inta the chill November night.

Jack stood outside for just a moment, noticing the world. He noticed how the cold air made the stars shine brighter, like maybe they was closer, an' it wasn't too bad a trade-off considering it weren't too cold yet. Time change happened just a couple weeks ago, an' it was getting dark early now no foolin', though the sun had set hours n' hours ago an it was late now. It was that part a the fall season where some days in Texas were still warm, but not so in Wyoming. The last warm week they could count on in Wyoming had passed, with Jack in it, but even it was a fluke. He sighed, his breath visible in the night, night not yet uncomfortable with cold, but getting there. Yeah, getting there. And he knew what he was going to do. He cursed himself, knowing, but yeah, he knew.

Jack got home at not even ten o'clock. Mostly he just wanted ta collapse in bed, but he dragged those shirts and the whiskey inta the spare bedroom, picked up the phone there. Damn his pride that stayed his hand a moment. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He never in a million years should a been doing this thing, but he did feel the pieces of his pride were pretty well shattered 'bout now, so what the hell. He dialed.

"Information, can I help you?"

"Yeah, uh, I'm askin' for an Ennis del Mar, Riverton, Wyoming."

"Can you spell that?"

"Oh, sure. D-E-L-M-A-R, Ennis."

Jack could hear her typing away on one of them new computer things. "I'm sorry, I don't see anything."

Jack's palms began to sweat. Ennis hadn't had a phone yet last week. Maybe it was a bluff.

"He just got a phone." Jack mustered more certainty than he felt. "You sure you don't have a listing, maybe not in the computer system yet."

"Um... it could be new, but in that case I wouldn't be able to check it."

"No way to check those?"

"Well, I mean, not if they aren't in the system yet."

"I know, but is there some files or somethin' around you could check?"

"Um... no?"

Poor girl. Jack knew he should just give up. "Could you just humor me and check again?" He wiped his damp palms on his jeans.

"Um, wait... yeah! Gosh it's right here. I'm sorry, I don't know... I'm new, don't quite know the system...let me..." Jack heard shuffling, moving, bumping. "Sorry. Yeah, we have it. Ennis del Mar. He was added yesterday."

Jack let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

"Would you like me to connect you direct?"

"Yeah, sweetheart, that'd be just perfect."

"Thanks! And thank you for calling information."

Jack could hear a smile in her voice from here. But before he could even digest the frazzled encounter with a young and clearly inexperienced operator, the phone was ringing. It didn't even ring twice. Damn.

"Uh, hello?" Ennis said it like the toaster had got up ta talk to him, an' he was tryin' ta make heads or tails of reality. Jack thought Ennis had maybe never sounded cuter. An' he just couldn't let Ennis's discomfort slide.

He made his voice a little deeper. "Hey there. Found yer number on a bathroom stall. You 'vailable?"

The groan on the other end of the line told Jack that he wasn't foolin' anyone.

Jack chuckled. "How you like havin' a phone?"

"Well I ain't had but one call, an' it were soliciting sexual favors, so I'm thinkin' not much."

Jack laughed.

"You alright? Why you callin'?"

"Yeah, I'm ok. Go in to the hospital tomorrow. Guess I felt like maybe we oughta clear a little air first."

Ennis groaned again, real emotion this time. "Now, Jack, don't be talkin' like that."

"Just common sense ta talk ta people before a surgery."

"Nothin' ya can't say later."

"Yeah." Jack didn't know what to say. It hadn't occurred to him how hard talkin' on the phone to Ennis would be. Ennis didn't carry a conversation too well, an' Jack didn't feel like conducting a monologue at the moment. The silence was moderately comfortable, but seemed ta stretch on forever, highlighting a gap, highlighting how little they had ta say to each other, and Jack suppressed a pang of fear, and with it a distant feeling. "Well, I guess I just wanted ta say hi." Truth was, Jack didn't want to try and clear the air. He didn't have any desire ta get into it with Ennis, and maybe Ennis had already sensed that.

"Yup. You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Lureen'll take me to the hospital tomorrow evening, then Tuesday mornin' I got my surgery. Guess I'll be in ICU after that?"

"ICU?"

"Intensive Care Unit."

Ennis grunted.

"Well, I just wanted ta tell you..."

"Yup."

"Yup."

"Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"Take care a yourself."

"I surely will."

"Alright then."

"Yup."

"G'night."

"Yeah, goodnight, Ennis."

The click was deafening like a cavernous echo, sounds bouncing against all the empty rooms of his life. The conversation somehow had only made everything worse. It gave Jack a sense of disconnection and something incomplete. But maybe that was good, because at least that way he had some reason to make sure he got ta talk to Ennis again.

Jack was feelin' awful tired. Like ta just lie down right there an' sleep all night. But he had a week in the hospital ta sleep, so he grabbed a pack a smokes and headed ta the back deck. He sat there-- just sat there. All night. Sat up all night an' watched the stars 'til the last one faded inta day.


	6. Chapter 6: Coldless Snow

Chapter 6: Coldless Snow  
_The burgundy shirt. Yeah that's the one. With the Wranglers. Remember lots of clean underwear. Maybe throw in a couple more. Socks, yeah. Sweatpants probably more comfortable than jeans, dumbass._

Jack stopped frantically shovin' things in his bag long enough to look down at his feet where the dark cream-colored skin, still tanned from goin' barefoot on the deck in the summer, pressed down against the nearly-white carpet. Eggshell, Lureen'd called it. Jack thought it was a little ironic that he was permanently walkin' on eggshells in the bedroom they shared. He wondered if he ought to give Lureen credit for bein' that clever, and figured maybe so.

His feet were size ten. His left big toe had a slightly ingrown toenail that hurt him from time ta time. His toenails were alright, though, fit for being seen outdoors. Ennis had some kind a yellow toenails, with long toes kinda like a monkey, and that man were self-conscious 'bout his feet a little bit as he got older. Not around Jack, though, because Jack wouldn't let him. Thought it was cute. Ennis was a little piss-shy, too. Nothin' cuter than that.

The dark, coarse hair sprouted on Jack's feet, across the back, and especially from his big toe. He kind a liked the hair the way it grew on his toes, mimicking the little, light tuft a dark hair on his hands, or elsewhere. It made his feet look darker, too, more tanned.

He shook his attention back to the present and finished packing the bag for his hospital stay. He was fidgety an' nervous. The doc had warned him that the recovery would be pretty damn painful, an' while Jack had a decent pain tolerance, knew that from years on the rodeo, standin' up and walkin' away on a leg with the bone stickin' out one time, an' the years before with his daddy. Still, bein' able ta stand it and wantin' ta stand it were two very different things, an' Jack knew that well.

"Jack, you ready ta go?"

Jack broke his reverie and raced ta the bathroom, grabbing deodorant, toothbrush, comb, before calling, "Comin'."

He met Lureen in the kitchen. Bobby'd left for school already. Lureen made pancakes, as it was the last meal at home Jack would have for a while. He forced himself to sit and eat it, but had ta admit he didn't quite have the taste for it. Still, was awful nice a Lureen ta make it, as she usually was pretty happy with toast n' coffee, and in fact that's all she was eatin' right now.

Jack cleared his throat. "You, uh, Lureen?"

"What's that, Jack?" She didn't look up from the morning newspaper she was reading.

"Any decent way you could think ta get Randall inta ICU?" There it was, on his kitchen table, in his an' Lureen's kitchen, plain as day.

She stopped chewing for a second, but then continued, voice flat like the fryin' pan she'd used ta make the pancakes. "Sure I could think a something."

"You're a real friend."

Lureen turned the page. "New county commissioner looks alright."

"Yeah?"

She nodded, her blond hair bouncing, then swung the paper closed, looked up, and declared, "We gotta go. You done eatin'?"

More than half his food was still on the plate, but he just nodded and let her take his plate ta the sink. He grabbed his bag and piled into Lureen's brown Chevy Celebrity. She was a no-nonsense gal, that one.

They arrived at the hospital 'round ten o'clock. The Childress Regional Medical Center was a bustlin' place. The new hospital had a big, open foyer complete with some stonework and a bunch a sofas an' chairs 'round a fireplace. Why they'd need one a those in Texas, Jack didn't know.

Lureen talked ta the woman at the desk. They'd been here before for tests, but that was a different wing, out where there was a garden an' some bird feeders attracted goldfinches an' other sorts a song birds. Maybe larks even. But the hallway Jack was headin' down now was a far cry. Not even decent sunlight, no windows, just a bank a fluorescent bulbs and an endless road, like all them other endless roads, only made a tile. He'd traded one road for another, but that was how life was.

That road led them up in the elevator to the fifth floor, where Dr. Meyers had an office. Jack felt more like he was bein' led around by his ma than being there with his wife, but just now he was feelin' a bit small. Lureen was always bigger n' life when she could help it, an' that was a blessing today. He was happy he'd asked her to come and not Randall. It wadn't like he wanted a mama, but he'd never had one in the way that Ennis had, Ennis tellin' him 'bout the stories his ma used a tell him and the songs she sang him an' the way she said she loved him ten times every day. Nothin' like Jack's ma, or like how Lureen mothered Bobby. But just for once it was nice ta have someone takin' care of him an' who was strong enough ta do so, all the way down.

After waitin', and browsin' Newsweek, because it was between that an' Southern Livin', Jack and Lureen were called into an office by Dr. Meyers.

Dr. Meyers was a quiet, middle-aged man, shortish, with a shy, happy smile, a small spare tire, and plenty a white facial hair, including a thick mustache Jack liked the looks of. Made him look somethin' like how Jack imaged Doc Holliday. But also Dr. Meyers reminded him mostly of Bob Newhart. But 'cept with facial hair. He liked ta think he was a funny as Newhart, too, but he lacked in that department.

"Jack, nice to see you."

"Doc. You 'member my wife, Lureen."

"Sure, yeah. Ok. Have a seat, will you both."

Jack was smiling, Dr. Meyers' own smile just a bit contagious.

In the next hour, Dr. Meyers reviewed to Jack and Lureen everythin' 'bout the surgery. Jack had a admit, he didn't pay too much attention. Been through all a this before. His mind mostly wandered to the walls of Dr. Meyers' office. He been made a doctor someplace called Johns Hopkins which was in Maryland. Also had a picture of a cat playing piano (probably gift from his wife, Jack thought, amused by the idea that maybe the doc hated it. Jack didn't like it none, anyways), a photograph of some lake in the fall, and then there were bookcases overflowin' with books an' papers. Half a them Jack wasn't even educated enough to sound out the titles of, an' he wasn't a crap reader or nothin'. Feelin' a fool suddenly in his doc's presence, he hung his hands between his knees and kept nodding. The bruise on his wrist was nearly gone, but if Jack knew where ta look he imagined he could still see it.

Eventually they were headin' ta get some tests, just Jack and Lureen. They took some blood, which didn't take three minutes, and Jack headed from there to pre-op. He hugged Lureen a cordial goodbye as she went home for the evenin'. There really wasn't no need for her ta stay, and she'd done more'n enough. They told him about not eating or drinkin' after a certain time, took cigarettes away from him on two separate occasions (which had Jack in a swearing mood by supper time, not that they let him have any food, goddammit), an' let him sleep in his own sweats. He was glad he'd packed 'em, otherwise it would a been paper gown time. Bein' poked and prodded by a dozen strangers was one thing, but Jack mighta drawn a line at doin' it in a paper gown. _You been poked and prodded plenty by strangers down in Mexico._

_Where the hell that thought come from?_ Seemed like Ennis had come to the hospital after all.

They went ahead and took his duffel, sayin' it'd be wherever he would be when he woke up. Jack didn't have any choice but to trust them, an' it made him nervous, even when he was sure it was meant ta give him less ta worry about. He slipped off inta sleep at his earliest convenience, still an ungodly early hour, havin' not slept the night before and feelin' a world a tired.

The next day was both a rush and a slow wait. Most a Jack's time in the hospital so far'd been waitin', but that was one thing Jack was a pro at, though he didn't consider himself a patient person in the least. Nervous flappin' a butterflies filled his tummy, remindin' him still a those Brokeback swallows, except this whole situation was 'bout as far from Brokeback as a person could get. They was gonna pump him full a drugs an' take out a organ when he was asleep, in a sterile clean white bright hospital room in Texas. Real fuckin' far from Brokeback, an' Jack, who felt brave in most situations, was havin' a hard time keepin' his palms from sweatin' over this one.

Lureen didn't visit him that mornin' before his surgery, and even Jack was surprised, but not really, not when he thought on it. He'd been hopeful, wondered if maybe Lureen would bring Bobby, but no such luck. Jack even let himself spare a moment an' get a little misty blue thinkin' on when that boy was young an' how Jack would sometimes even feel like a real, live, whole human being holdin' his young son against his chest. Jack missed that Bobby. In his heart he knew the ornery teenager was the same one, and all boys were bound to grow into ornery teenagers at some point, but Jack did miss that young Bobby who looked in his daddy's eyes like his daddy was the one responsible for bringin' the sun up every mornin'. Jack heaved a sigh and leaned back hard against his bed.

They changed him into one of those paper-feelin' gowns, wheeled him into another room, and started givin' him IVs. The nurse who did that said she had some trouble findin' veins, laughed an' said Jack carried his life's-blood deep inside, like she thought she was bein' poetic. Jack nodded and laughed, but thought it was an ironic comment somehow, 'cause he sure had a lot a secrets for someone wore his heart on his sleeve.

Next thing Jack knew he was drifting into a sleep, which felt alright, felt restful, felt... strawberry-flavored and royal purple. Felt...

When Jack woke up, it was to the feelin' of about three people tappin' him. "Are you awake Jack? Can you hear me, honey?" The voice was friendly an' feminine.

"Unnnh," came his own highly-articulate answer. It took him a minute to realize the three people was just one person, and that he couldn't talk partially because of a tube in his throat. He was staring up into Ennis-almond-colored eyes set in a dark chocolate face. He hoped his eyes weren't wide an' betrayin' all the fear he felt, wakin' up with tubes and not knowin' where he was.

But the woman cast a wide, very toothy, and impossibly white smile at him. "I'm Kay, Jack, can you do me a favor, Jack, and I'm going to take this tube out of your throat. I just want you to cough as hard as you can on the count of three. Can you do that, Jack?"

He nodded.

"Ok. One. Two. Three. Perfect. Great." She was smiling again, but just kept talking, "Now, the intubation tube, that's what was down your throat to keep you breathing evenly while under general anesthesia, it leaves most people's throats raw or sore, so you might want some water." She was pouring some into a paper cup as she spoke, and handed it over to him. "A lot of patients in this stage might feel very floaty, disoriented, or dizzy. Do you feel any of these things, Jack?"

She was movin' 'bout four hundred miles an hour too fast for him, but all those words rang a bit true, as he groaned around his water cup.

"Yeah I bet you do. Your wife hasn't come to see you yet?"

Jack managed ta shake his head, but only wished he hadn't because it started some kinda spear of nausea in his stomach, an' he had a concentrate to keep the room from churnin', after. "Well, I can't rightly say. Not so sure what day it is, even."

"Oh, it's Wednesday morning. You must have slept through all of Tuesday, Jack. Welcome to Wednesday, honey. And I think it's too bad your wife hasn't come to see you. But I understand. My husband and I barely manage to see each other anymore, between his business trips and my long hours here at the hospital. When I was in school, though, it was worse. Although I didn't have kids when I was in school, so maybe that's not a fair comparison." She giggled, an' it were a pleasant sound to Jack's tired ears. He did sort of like this Kay, he reflected. She was a talker, an' had this habit of sayin' his name way too often, like maybe she was still tryin' a memorize it, but still, her voice was a bit musical, an' she certainly had no trouble sharin' 'bout herself.

Kay got him set up with a TV that assaulted him with normalcy, showed him how to use the morphine pump that made him sail on a sea a calm, pointed out the nurse's button that put the exclamation point on his helplessness, and went over the other half dozen medical items on her checklist: when the catheter come out, what time meals are, how shitty he was goin' a feel for a couple days. Finishin' her speech, she took a step back and seemed to evaluate him. "Anyway, I need to get going. See you later." Her departure was graced with a smile. Jack took the silence followin' to slip off into sleep, though that wasn't optional in the slightest sense.

Sometime later, Jack resurfaced to consciousness by a pretty nasty pain sweeping through his body. His world shrunk down to where his neck made a funny kink into a flattish pillow, and where his hand lazed onto the morphine pump. As long as he could control his thumb, the pain, always there, was like a distant story bein' told him by someone else. He couldn't even muster the energy ta straighten 'is neck and end what he knew must be hurtin' there, too, but it didn't matter. The idea of movin' hurt more than the lazy white haze of layin' still. It tasted like sex, but far more hilarious. It tasted like cool whip when he ate it on a spoon. Jack giggled. At least, he thought he giggled. He didn't hear anythin' except Sally Jessy's voice at the end of a long tunnel, but he liked that sound and had asked Kay to leave it on, 'cause he didn't want to be alone right now. But in his heart, he giggled.

And ached, a hopeless ache, as the world smelled sugary and his everything fell soft on his senses, like being wrapped in a down bedroll, which Jack had only ever been wrapped in one summer, when the world had turned white then, too, white with the moon, and with snow, and with softness.

Jack hit the pump with his thumb again. He knew he shouldn't. He didn't feel no pain, but sadness was edging in, and loneliness, and it hurt, goddammit, it hurt more than his insides or his neck or any part a him. He thought the doctors must have missed and sliced his heart open, because God he needed---

A white flush of misty bled the thought from him. He'd needed the morphine, he thought with another silent giggle. It made the pain alright. All kinds a pain were alright in this white place. Like clouds. Like Jack Twist was floating in heaven with Sally Jessy Raphael.

Jack's non-thought was interrupted by a noise at the door, and he moved his eyes, though not his head. He wasn't facin' the right way to see who it was, anyway, though, so he dropped his eyes closed and thought maybe if he held real still they'd go away and let him be, let him be without moving in this place where moving felt like a sacrilege, something that pulled you away from God. Jack thought he could see real good how people became addicted to this stuff. His thumb slid a prayer across the button, but he didn't push. Not that far gone. People get addicted to this stuff.

"Jack?"

It was Kay. He steeled himself and turned over, sat up. Found it was easier than he thought it'd be.

"Are you awake, dear?"

It was weird to have a woman nearly ten years his junior talkin' to him like he was her son. He'd found out by now she had a boy. She talked a blue streak in general, all about her six-year-old son and nine-year-old daughter. She was thirty-four, didn't trust the boy to brush his teeth proper, had a husband in advertising, and wanted to go on a vacation to Hawaii but couldn't stand the thought of being on the plane with her kids that long. She spoke spot-on proper English to a nearly farcical, for Texas, degree, and liked to explain every last little thing she was doing in more medical detail than Jack could digest. It was like the chatter was the music that lit Kay's day, and Jack didn't mind, not one bit. Her voice was musical, and he liked listening, even if it was to medical terms. Besides, he liked her a lot more than Sally Jessy.

"Yeah, I'm up."

"Good, we got a phone call for you at the nurse's station, and I'd like to patch it in to your room line right here."

"Who's it?"

"Your mother."

"Oh. Alright." He craned to pick up the bedside phone, and not without considerable pain, but Kay didn't help him. He was secretly glad. He needed ta not be completely helpless, and considerable pain was an old bud of his from his rodeo days. Might be a long path ta travel yet, an' if he couldn't go this far, what chance did he really have?

"Jack?"

"Hi, ma."

"Jack, that you?" She might be his ma, but she was clearly still a old lady.

"Yeah, ma, it's me."

"You doin' well?"

"Yeah, I sure am." It mighta been an exaggeration, but it served well enough.

"That's good, that's good." Quiet fell between them, silence for each of the nearly-thousand miles between them, for all the years that fell between them, too. "Well, you rest up an' take care."

"Yeah, you too."

"I will. You be good."

"Thanks, ma."

"Goodbye."

She was gone before Jack could respond, and he was all alone again.

Except he wasn't. Kay was still in the room, like she had some kinda right ta listen to his conversation. Jack wasn't mad, though, but that woman better watch it. One day she would overstep her bounds with someone didn't take it so well. "Kay? You got a minute?"

She excelled at sure smiles. "I have to go check on Mrs. Scanley in a minute. She just got out of a hip replacement. She's seventy-six and by next month she'll be running around like she's seven, but I'm betting she's still asleep right now, so I can stay a minute. What's on your mind?"

"Nothin' in particular. Jus' lonely. Don' know why mah wife ain't been in yet."

"I'm sorry about that. She did call earlier, but you were sound asleep. I'm surprised she hasn't visited."

"Yeah, well, she's a pretty busy lady."

Kay pulled over a chair. "Is she? What does she do?"

"Oh, she runs her daddy's farm machinery business."

"She runs a business? I can see how she's so busy. Probably pretty smart, too, huh?" She was filling out forms on her clipboard as she talked, but her smile was bright and sincere, and her glances up frequent.

"Yeah, you bet. What you fillin' out there?"

"Just some forms. They make us do all sorts of bureaucratic work on you patients." Her large white teeth made their typical belle-of-the-ball debut. "I bet, with your wife running a business, you know all about bureaucracy."

"Ma'am, I sold farm machinery for half my life. I'm an old hand with carbons."

She laughed. "So that's what you do, then?"

"Yeah. I'm jus' a tractor salesman. Disappointed?"

"Don't say 'just.' You get to interact with a large variety of people. That's one of the things that drew me to nursing. I bet it's a pretty exciting job."

Jack laughed from his belly, drawing up pain, the pain ringin' through his chest, stealin' his breath away. Kay noticed and pushed Jack's little button before he coul' protest. The pain was a welcomed change, but as soon as it had come, Jack was floating in the coldless snow again.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothin'. It's jus'. Well, first off, the only variety you get in combine sales is that some people wear a tan hat an' others a white. 'Sides that everyone's the same ol' fat farm owner. Second, I was a bull rider before I was a salesman. Got inta sales to escape the excitin'."

Her eyes grew wide. "Bull riding? Now that's fascinating to me. Why would anyone ride a bull?"

"Can pay pretty well if you're any good."

"That's neat." She stood. "Listen, I have to go check on Mrs. Scanley now, but I'll see you soon."

Jack would a been lyin' if he didn't admit he watched her rounded backside until it faded inta the hallway.

Jack didn't remember fallin' asleep, but he woke this time to a gentle tap on his arm. The window told him it was full evenin'. The tap belonged to Lureen, but Jack's eyes focused immedi't'ly on the big, blue eyes at the foot a his bed, broadcastin' fear an' lookin' not at all like those of a apathetic teenage boy.

"Say now, Lureen, why you bringin' handsome young men inta my hospital room?" It was out a his mouth before he realized there were two ways it could be taken, now that he knew 'bout Lureen's knowin'. Her glare spoke that she didn't miss it, neither, an' Jack, feelin' like a slug, looked down. When he looked back up, though, Bobby's eyes were smilin', so he just went on an' ignored Lureen. "How you doin', buddy?"

"Ok."

Jack waited for more, but got nothin'. "Alright."

"Jack," Lureen started, "you okay in here? You need me to bring anything from home?"

Funny how she made it sound like prison. "No, I'm just fine. Even think I made myself a friend."

"Oh yeah?"

"My nurse Kay is real sweet."

"That's good." Lureen took a seat, and Bobby hauled one of his own over to the far wall.

"Bob, get on over here." Bobby looked nervous and startled when he pulled a chair closer. Jack guessed he was feelin' maybe some of the mushier emotions an' didn't know how to deal with 'em.

"Uh, Bobby got a B on an English test."

"That so?" Jack felt a huge-ass grin break through to the sluggish muscles of his face.

"Yup." Bobby was looking down at his feet an' tryin' not ta smile.

"That's real good, Bob, real good."

"An' he also had a big day in the mowin' business."

"Yeah?"

Bobby's head snapped up. This was shop, sales an' shop talk was somethin' the family shared pretty well. This other stuff, health n' grades, was such new ground that Jack thought they'd never had higher quality family time'n now. Sort a ironic he had ta get so sick to have it, but even so it wasn't never what he really wanted from the people he called his family.

"Yeah. Corndog an' I got a contract with Don Mills. Three acres, one year." He was grinnin'.

"Yeah? Way to go." Bobby an' his small-minded, big-walletted friend Colin "Corndog" Arlington had themselves a mowin' business. Lureen'd gone in for the mowers, sure thing, but Bobby was the sales and manpower. Corndog was good with figures despite bein' a dumbass ta others, an' put in his fair share a sweat.

"Anyway," Lureen cleared her throat. "You look tired. We should be goin'." Jack felt tired, sure 'nough, but he didn't wanna be left alone. Didn't matter, though, 'cause Lureen did what she though ta do, so she an' Bobby got up, not even' havin' stayed a half hour, and were gone. Though Lureen did stop and say "I'll check on how you're doin' later" on her way out the door.

An' so the days passed that way, pain-red button-coldless snow in an endless rhythm like night n' day. Only wasn't neither. It was like the misty place after dawn when you say five more minutes, five more minutes, an' five minutes stretches out n' out forever. Jack ain't had many days like that in his life, so he wasn't mindin' this lazy succession. He lived in a world of clean sheets an' practiced TV voices, openin' an eye occasionally to watch a Plinko game.

Lureen came by again on Thursday evening, but no Bobby. They didn't say much with any meat-- talked on work mostly.

Friday night Lureen came again, but with a sour-ass expression an' Jack's "half-brother" Randall in tow. "You didn't tell me you had such a handsome brother," Kay'd cooed on her way out a the room. Jack had swallowed hard with a smile he didn't mean ta have.

It was pretty quiet an' uncomfortable, Lureen glarin' at a wall, Randall snatchin' smiles at Jack between frowns at his boots. They talked health, Jack's an' LaShawn's, an' weather, 'cause it were safe ground n' neutral.

Just as the interaction were growin' so strained it made Jack eye that candy apple red button, the door opened with a quietly deafening "screeeee."

"Uh, excuse me." Kay was careful not ta actually enter the room. "Jack, your mother's on the line for you again. Do you want to take it?"

"Yes, ma'am!" _Oh God yes. Yes, oh, yes, God, an' thank you._

"Ok, Jack, I'll transfer it." She left with a smile, as always. _Least somethin' 'round here niver change._

"Do you want us ta...," Lureen started.

"Naw, naw, stay, it's jus' my mah." He was talkin' over the ringin', so he shifted-- _oww_-- ta pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Jack."

"Hi, ma, how are you?"

"Good, good. You doin' as well?"

"Sure, yeah."

"That's good. Listen, somethin' I'm callin' about."

A steel fist clamped down around Jack. His mama hadn't never called 'bout nothing, so it couldn' be good. "What's that, mama?"

"I jus'..." She sounded nervous, an' when she started 'gain, her voice was barely discernible 'bove a whisper. "I jus' thought you might 'preciate knowin' your friend called here."

Jack's whole whitewashed, pain-dizzy, socially sticky world spun down to slow motion, even as his heart sped up. "He did."

"Yeah, he was... hopin' I knew how you was. I tol' him you were fine like you tol' me Wednesday. Hope that's alright."

"That's..." Jack couldn't finish his sentence. The last few days, colored by the aching loneliness from the week before, that loneliness overgrown by the lack of dronin' out distractions, they'd been hard. Harder'n he was lettin' on even ta himself. Didn' wanna cry front a these two, but a glance at Lureen--. Damn. Her mouth was drawn into a frown n' her face was still as stone, but her large brown eyes shown with somethin' like relief. 'Cause surely she knew what had brought the light back so suddenly, where her sparse visits had failed. She was no fool, no how.

Jack didn't wanna glance at Randall, so he didn't. Was afraid a seein' Randall hurtin' at what just might be a moment a personal salvation, moments like people spoke of at church, I been saved, Lordy Jesus!, but this one just for Jack alone. _Mine. My friend, my ma, my phone call, my man, and my life ta live. Fuck what Randall thinks._ Jack'd had it 'bout up to here tryin' a spare Randall's feelin's. Sort of ironic that he'd spent more time sparin' Randall's feelin's than he spent on Ennis's recently, but that was the truth of it-- when you knew there weren't no way ta push someone away for permanent, you could take more liberties with them than was likely wise. It was a lesson Jack reckoned both he an' Ennis had ahead of them ta learn, if they was ever--

_If we was ever ta what? 'Cause I know there's nothing ta end that sentence with no more._ Jack killed the thought, rememberin' his ma was still on the line. He cleared the lump from his throat an' resisted the urge ta ask for Ennis's words from his mama, ta demand, _What'd he say? Tell me every goddamn last word, every sigh n' inflection. 'Cause they might not sound like nothin' ta you, but I know how ta read 'em, an' I need to know, Christ, bad as I ever needed anything._ But what he said was, "That's real nice, ma. Thanks for callin' a let me know."

"He was real nice, Jack. Courteous."

"Yeah. He's a... he's real respectful."

"I could tell."

"How did... how... how's dad?"

"Oh, he's alright. Jus' fine. He didn't care ta hear much 'bout your friend, but you know we don't get too many telephone calls. On that account, I thought it was of interest."

"I bet." Jack didn't even bother restrainin' his smile. He heard between his mother's words alright, an' was reminded why he loved his mama. Distant an' careful as she was, she also had for him a kind a unconditional love he weren't even sure he had for Bobby. Hoped so, but. Well, Bobby ain't never tested him like he had his ma. Never came home waxin' romantic over another full-grown man. Never sat at his ma's dinner table thinkin' on how much he wanted that taste a manhood against his tongue. Jack knew it wouldn't be appropriate to push the subject further right now. His ma's silence agreed with him. "Well, your grandson got a B in English."

"Did he now? You got a smart one there, Jack."

It was not a compliment he'd heard before, from anyone, an' he wanted ta beam a bigger smile, but it weren't physically possible at this point. Not 'less he wanted his face ta jus' explode. He'd pondered a lot a ways to die in the past few weeks, but that might be the best. Jack even chuckled out loud, which hurt all through his belly, but fuckit, 'cause it felt damn good, too, n' he needed an' deserved it. _Man gets too happy an' face explodes. He is survived by a whole bunch a people who're fuckin' mad at him for 'parently havin' a queer lover somewhere. Cept'n the queer lover who---._ Bad train a thought an' he shouldn't a ever have gone there.

"Well, ma, I got some medical test in the mornin', an' Lureen's here visitin', so I better head on off."

"Alright. You take care."

"I will." Jack was not surprised that she hadn't asked ta speak ta Lureen. "Goodnight."

"Night, Jack."

Jack twisted ta lay down the phone in its cradle 'gain, an' not without pain, though he was a bit ticked Lureen hadn't helped him considerin' it was within her reach. Not a lot more a uncomfortable conversation was shared before Lureen said she was tired an' needed ta head on home. After she left, though, the room only got smaller an' hotter, the conversation more stilted. Randall didn't stay too much longer.

In the mornin', Jack went to an MRI. They even had him walk there. They were makin' him move around a bit, gettin' ready ta release him soon, an' even though he had ta continue ta take it easy when he went home, Jack was feelin' pretty good by now an' couldn't get out a the hospital fast enough. They had him off IV painkillers and medicines, and on to pills, which was fine. Still plenty a floatin' feelin', still a white an hazy world.

In the afternoon, he got a knock on his door, an' it pushed open without waitin' for a response. There was Dr. Meyers, the same demure smile plastered on his face as usual, but it had some fakeness 'bout it today.

"Well. We didn't find anything on the MRI." He pulled over a chair, and Jack didn't miss the scowl he was doin' a poor job hidin' peak through for a instant.

"Yeah? That's good, ain't it?"

"Well, sure. Yeah it is."

"That's good."

"Mr. Twist. Your tumor was four centimeters. You need to know that can be a pretty serious size."

"What you sayin'? You need to start me on chemo or somethin'?" Jack frowned deep, not likin' the train a this conversation much.

"Renal cell carcinoma is pretty indifferent to chemotherapy. But either way, it doesn't _appear_ to have spread anywhere, so you may be in the clear."

"Why you say it like that, then?" Jack didn't need to explain more. It was obvious enough to both of them that Doc Meyers was sittin' on some bad news.

Meyers blew out a breath. He was slouching in a chair way past the foot a Jack's bed. He started with a little fake smile. "Call it a feeling? I've been in this business more than a few years, an' your tumor looked pretty aggressive to myself, the urologist, and the surgeon."

"What are you trying to say?" Jack was losing his patience an' quickly.

"Look. I can give you a pretty clean bill a health out of here today, an' you can go back to your job an' your life. But I have a feeling I'll be seeing you again, and not for a check-up." Meyers had lost some patience too, it seemed, though Jack didn't figure it was at him. Maybe Meyers'd had a bad day. "So I'm just going to give you the best advice I know of. Take a vacation. Take your wife and son to Hawaii or something. You may be just fine, but good health is a blessing, and I'm advising you to take advantage-- but come back here immediately if you feel even the slightest bit bad. So maybe Hawaii's not a great idea. But I hope you get my point."

"Yeah, I gotchyou." Jack just wanted him out, now. Feelin' every bit of a tired ol' no-count queer salesman, Jack let his head slam back against his inclined bed.

Meyers seemed to sense something, because he nodded and stood. "Sorry I can't be more optimistic for you, Jack. I couldn't, well, you understand, I hope." And he left.

Jack felt a stomach knot rise up inta his throat, like them Brokeback swallows aged to mountain rock itself, inside him an' tryin' ta leave. He thought for a flicker of time that maybe the doc was castin' spells on him with his pessimism. Keep him in a room with no wood to knock on, not of any kind... but Jack weren't a highly superstitious man.

Jack felt his world slow n' collapse. There was the flashin' a faces from a muted TV screen. There was a gentle cooin' a city pigeons outside the window. Somewhere in the room he could hear a fly strugglin' 'gainst this unnatural environment, cold walls holdin' him in.

A vacation, he'd said. With his wife, he'd sad. Well, a vacation wasn't anything he done before, cept'n his week in San Antonio as a honeymoon, an' it sounded alright. Sure did. But not with Lureen.

Jack thought maybe he should a been more upset, but he couldn't feel it. He began to feel like he was soarin'. Ennis thought he was foolish, maybe even romantic, probably, but now Jack had leave. He had a goddamn good excuse. So he spent the entire rest a his hospital stay thinkin' on the only thing he thought he could really never get tired a thinkin' on-- what sort a lure he needed ta hook Ennis inta his cockassed plans. More time, Ennis'd said. Jack didn't know what that meant no more, and 'parently neither did the doc, but Jack was aimin' ta spend as much of what he had left with Ennis as he could, even if he had a sell his pride ta get there.

When Jack left that hospital on a Sunday mornin' early, the brown wintry grasses were frost-kissed and sparklin' in the new light. An' even though the dawn made the frost as tender as new-fallen snow, an' even though the grass sparkled like diamond under the influence a the frost, it wasn't the frost that Jack was watchin'. He'd never seen the broken post-autumn stems seem as gold as they did now. Jack was drawn by the gold. 'Cause maybe that was what life was like, the dry death underneath the snow, just waiting to turn into gold at dawn.


	7. Chapter 7: The Patchwork Pilgrim

**Disclaimer:** The characters do not belong to me and I make no money off of them.

**AN:** This chapter made possible in its entirety by Marakeshsparrow, who beta'd by ear and eye over the course of two weeks, sometimes with very little notice, and always with amazing feedback. I also want to thank Mobody for doing lovely cover art for this story.

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The Patchwork Pilgrim

The paper scraped his fingers dry, so many bright colors and little black names, phone numbers printed big, and pictures of kids an' flowers an' who knew what else kind a things. It had to have been half an hour of flippin' through pages before his sedate brain mustered the energy to focus his eyeballs. When they did he found he was resting in "Dentists." No wonder everyone here was smilin'.

The book had a smell like nothin' else, a smell unique to the yellow pages, maybe the paper, maybe the million different color inks mixin'. If you crossed your eyes just so, even the dentists' pages could look sort a colorful, the big blue ad against the green border against the yellow paper, like fields and flowers and ponds made a dentists.

His angry stomach brought Jack back to Earth with a quake, and he grabbed a few more peanuts from the canister. It had been his companion all day, not because he wasn't hungrier for more. More like, he was savin' all his energy for not focusin' on the yellow pages.

It was the pills; Jack knew it was. They kept him in a hazy place where gettin' out a bed seemed worse than pointless, but he did it, 'cause the yellow book weren't about ta walk down the hall to his bedroom under its own steam.

Since he came home from the hospital, he been staying in the guest bedroom. It was hard to explain why, but with the plans in his head... He'd spent a lot a years makin' plans while lyin' next to Lureen at night. None a those had panned out. But this one had to, and though he weren't a superstitious man, the plans seemed more serious if he left his wife to complete them. Though by leavin' he just meant movin' across the hall. He'd done it under the guise a his health. He could be nearer a bed stand, keep his water n' pills, wake up in the middle a the night and read a magazine if he couldn't sleep. Lureen hadn't challenged that none. But mostly Jack just laid in bed starin' up, not seein' the ceilin'. Seein' the future. An' it was that that drove him to haul out this water-wrinkled book from its under-sink burrow-hole.

Sittin' at the table, big, old, furrowed book in front a him, reminded Jack of sittin' on his mama's lap as she used to read to him from her Bible. It was the only bedtime story he ever got, an' that book was old and wrinkly with yellow pages, too. Jack wondered if he could find a prayer for hope in this scripture of AT&T. Surely you were supposed to start a pilgrimage with a prayer, right?

Raisin' his fingers once 'gain to the slippery pages-- hated the feel of them so much, like old newspaper-- he sought the mantra he knew must be there.

_Hotels. Pest. Plumbing. Plumbing-Pools. Radio. Real. Rental-- nope. Back. Recreational. There. Recreational Vehicles – Dealers._ A quick skim of the column, an' Jack latched on to the first one that said "rentals." _Can Am Recreational Vehicles, Rentals & Sales_. There was a few columns of places, Jack saw, but he started at the top. See which one got him whatever kind a RV he would need to make this shit work out. How to become a fisher of men, well, of Ennis anyway, like the Bible said (though he guessed he had some plans for Ennis that God hadn't had in mind...), that was the one thing that worried him. But he would think 'bout that later. _Burn that bridge when I get to it._ He couldn't help but be a little bit cynical 'bout that obstacle, but he couldn't help but be a little bit hopeful, too.

After an hour a callin' around, he ended up with an RV from a place called Brambillas Inc., ready ta pick up Monday morning, a week from today. Jack could hardly believe he was doin' this. When he picked up the big, yellow book to store it again, he couldn't deny his hands were shakin'. _I'm jumping off a cliff here. Can only hope there's water below an' not rock._

Even so, Jack knew the RV was just the start, the vessel and not the journey. It was a promise to himself-- a reservation date and a down-payment with his Visa Card. No matter how scared of this thing he got, how proud he found himself in the dark hours, or how desperate in the bright ones, he was goin' a be there Monday mornin' at eight a.m. to pick up a 1981 Fleetwood Pace Arrow. Jack didn't know anythin' 'bout RVs, so he hoped it was a good one.

Lookin' down at the piece a paper he'd scribbled his notes on, Jack blinked in surprise at all the words he'd written down. _Housekeepin' package? I bought that? What the hell is it?_ He'd mostly just said "yes" a lot on the phone, his pulse hammerin' too hard ta even hear the salesman. He was a salesman himself an' he bet he just got suckered in ta some packages he didn't need by havin' his emotional state took advantage of. He knew, 'cause he'd done it more than once.

Well, he had one more sale ta pitch, an' this was it, for the farm. He better figure out how ta make this client dance right inta his hands. Given the understanding he had a the man, why was that so hard? _'Cause he's stubborn as a cart ox, Twist._ Stubborn, and familiar with Jack's wily ways. Hadn't even Jesus had problems bein' listened to in his home town? Well, he'd have ta catch Ennis off guard. Had ta get him before that man got a chance ta put his defenses up. An' even though Jack's palms were itchin' for a phone, and his ears for that gravelly voice, he was afraid a the red flag he would raise with the fever-pitch of hope in his voice. Though he wanted to, he knew he couldn't call Ennis. But he sure as hell could pick up his RV Monday morning.

Still, Jack knew it was only a start. He had one week, an' an uphill battle marathon-long, before he even had a sale to make.

He went back to Lureen's office and pulled out a sheet a Newsome Farm and Ranch letterhead. He could hardly believe what he was plannin', but what choice did he have? He'd said he'd spare no pride, an' here was proof.

_Mrs. Alma_ – shit, Jack didn't know her married name. An' how much was child support anyway? Had Ennis said? Jack scraped the dusty edges of his memory with something akin to desperation. This was not going to work.

Just then a knock at the door called for his attention. It was Randall. And swear to God if the first thing out a Jack's mouth wasn't, "You know how much child support is?"

"Whut?"

"Never mind. Come on in." Jack wandered right back to the kitchen and slumped into the wicker-bottom chair. He ought to stop and be sociable, but Randall knew 'bout Ennis now, an' he was goin' a know about Jack's plans later if not sooner.

"What are you up to 'round here?" Randall hadn't never been stupid.

"I, well, listen here. I've been thinkin' I need a vacation--"

"You ain't well enough to travel, Jack."

"In fact, was my doc that suggested it, if you'd a let me finish."

Randall held up his arms in a defensive gesture and pulled out the chair across from Jack.

"Rented an RV an' everything."

"When? Where to?"

"Uh..."

"You know I can't get off a work no time soon. Need more notice."

"Oh. Uh, I didn't... I mean, I wasn't... uh."

"Oh. Guess I'm feelin' stupid."

"No, it's alright. I could see how you might a thought that."

"I just don't think it's a good idea, you goin' by yourself with your medical issues."

"I wasn't plannin' on goin' alone."

"Really? I'm surprised Lureen would--"

Jack's eyes shot up and sought Randall's understanding wordlessly, the only way he could muster the courage to ask it.

"Oh," Randall finished. "Well."

"Yeah."

"Well, you think he'll come?"

"Shit if I know, but I gotta try. You understand, dontcha, friend?"

"Yeah, Jack. Sure. I do." Randall's voice was warm, and Jack was inclined to believe him. Randall'd always been a sucker for giving Jack what he wanted. Sometimes Jack even thought he took advantage of that, so unused to it from other arenas. Maybe that was why he guarded Randall's feelings so carefully-- guilt. He could probably think of over a half dozen different reasons why maybe he should feel guilty 'bout Randall. He couldn't ever give back to Randall what Randall wanted, but he could try to couch that disappointment in affection. And he did. Enough to lead the man on worse.

"That what this for?" Randall leaned forward, pointing to this piece of letterhead with exactly two words on it.

"This? This is shit. Bad idea." Jack crumpled it up and shot it like the dying dream it represented, a falling star across the kitchen and into the trash bin to land on top of some tin foil.

"Why dontcha go back to bed, rest up more? You look tired, Jack."

"I'm fine." He sighed. He was tired, but it had nothing to with anything, and laying in bed not planning this thing would only make it worse.

"You don't look fine."

"Listen," Jack felt his patience with Randall runnin' out fast, an' he knew it was so because his pointer finger was comin' up to drive his point home. "I got a week, an' a lot of figurin' out an plannin', so I need you to either help, or leave."

Jack figured he'd hurt Randall some, but it was sort a like that's the way things fell right now, an' he wasn't up to takin' no blame.

Randall proved himself a true friend, though, when his answer was a stifled little, "Alright then. What... what can I do here, Jack?"

Jack really didn't even know how Randall _could_ help. "You know anything 'bout child support?"

"Don't know how I would know that."

"Yeah." Jack felt his hopefulness sapped from him, pulled hand-over-hand out of his chest, leavin' only a tight, empty place. This approach wasn't workin'. He had to think of somethin' different. He didn't know what possessed him then, but an idea struck him so strong. It seemed like maybe the only thing he could think ta do, though he knew if Ennis was ta ever find out, Jack'd be dead for sure.

"What's up?" Randall was eyin' him suspicious, and Jack guessed he was grinnin' like a fox after a rabbit.

But his stomach was doing enough somersaults that he felt like the prey himself. He picked up the phone, dialed 4-1-1, and asked for a listing under Alma del Mar. This time he took down the number, licking his lips, and focused on Randall's bewildered eyes, like maybe he could draw strength from the only source he had, before dialing again.

"Hello?"

Jack's voice failed him at the soft, delicate, feminine one that came across the line, and it was only then he realized he should a thought this out more.

"Hello? Anyone there?" The voice was young, thank God almighty, cause if it'd been Alma Senior he would a never found a single word.

This was a bad idea. Jack briefly thought about hanging up, but what other choice did he have? What other choice? A sense of desperation drove the words from his mouth, and he was genuinely surprised when his first comment was "Hey there," and not a sob.

"Hello?"

"Hi, uh, to whom I speakin'?"

"It's... you called me."

_Shit._ She had some say-so, that was for sure. Well Jack knew somethin' 'bout sweet talkin' people. "Yeah, I guess I did, huh? Listen here, I'm a friend a your daddy's." Whoever this was, it was a teenage girl. "And I, uh, I need a favor."

"Yeah?" She sounded highly unconvinced. She sounded like he was lucky he hadn't got hung up on.

"I... I'm givin' your daddy a loan. He don't want your mama to know nothin' 'bout it jus' yet, but it's for, uh, child support."

"He can't pay it." It wasn't really a question, and the accusation sidewinding through her statement turned Jack's stomach. It wasn't right for the girl to insinuate such things 'bout her father. Her father was one of the goddamn best fucking people Jack had ever... He realized he was lettin' the line hang silent.

"Now you wait there. He can pay it. I'm just givin' him a gift." Jack was usin' his father voice on her, though he probably had no right. But maybe he did. Or he would like to. Or somethin'. Still, first time in his life that layin' on a lecture to a child felt... freeing. Like saying everything he couldn't.

"Thought you said it was a loan."

"Well, it's more of a gift."

"Does he know 'bout this?" She was a sharp one.

"Uh, no. I just wanted ta cover some a his child support, 'cause I know he ain't got half the money he pretends ta have."

"He don't pretend ta have nothin'. What you know about it? He don't even have no friends. Who is this, huh?"

"Oh, uh, name's Jack Twist. I guess I met you once, but you were jus' a little sprout." Jack saw that Randall was concentrating hard on his dirty fingernails.

She was silent a moment, before she sighed, "oh," like it meant something. Panic tightened Jack's chest. "Oh. Well, this is Alma Junior you're talkin' to."

Jack might a burst into tears of joy at the extension of her trust so suddenly, if he hadn't been so conflicted up with worry at the same time. Did she know, then? Maybe not. Some a Ennis's paranoia might be rubbin' off on him. An' even if she did know, she would a told someone by now if that was her plan.

"Should I take it that you do remember me, then?"

"Hard to forgit, when daddy only ever had one friend in his life."

She sure knew how to shoot dead on. Like her daddy. A course Ennis only had one friend in his life. An' that's me.

Jack didn't say anything for a while, and Junior was a quiet sort. The silence was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, it was just there. The two most important people in Ennis's life, trying each other on for size. Junior, brave girl that she was, found her voice first.

"It's hundred fifty."

"Huh?"

"Francine's child support."

Jack wasn't sure how come Junior should know that, but the wave of relief that hit him was near-physical, pushing him back in is chair. "I, uh."

"Don't mention it." She didn't sound friendly, really. Almost defensive, if he were bein' honest, but he thanked her from the bottom of his heart before he hung up and jotted $150 on his piece of RV notepad. He underlined it twice for good measure, his body was twitching with even more restlessness, if possible.

"You got what you were after?" Randall didn't even look curious about the phone call. Just looked tired.

"Yeah, I sure did." Jack felt plenty tired himself.

"Then maybe now you'll rest for a little bit." It wasn't a statement or a question, but the quiet tide of insistence that Randall could easily call on to move men to his whims on the ranch. That sort a hard-handedness had always worked on Jack. If it hadn't, he wouldn't still be in Childress.

"Yeah, guess I could sit on the couch a spell."

"Let me make you somethin'. Got some leftovers? Turkey?" Randall was smilin' genuine. That man did like his food, an' the one major holiday Jack had utterly missed in a wave a hospital pain and the flow of white through his life, like moonlight on dark water, was Randall's favorite. Jack hadn't spared it nearly a thought, other than bein' rather glad ta escape it. Thanksgiving with the Newsomes was tense in the best a times.

Jack guessed they'd had dinner without him. Lureen had come to visit him that night, he remembered, but not Randall. Thanksgiving was for people who had things to be thankful for, and Jack didn't feel much like he had anything. It was for healthy people livin' in the world. Not for people in the hospital. Randall, when push'ed come to shove, had brushed Jack aside like the previous page on a calendar. Lovely and missed, but in the past. After all, Randall had a baby on the way now, an' with his family was probably where he belonged on the holidays.

And even though Randall was here, Jack knew for certain now, Randall wasn't really here no longer. It was final, ended. That still had so far to go to sink in, but Jack reckoned he would be alright once it did.

After all, Ennis probably hadn't realized it was Thanksgiving, either. He'd said he didn't go to Alma's no more. Probably worked a double shift to cover for folks with families. _One day I am going to celebrate Thanksgiving with Ennis del Mar._

Jack wasn't sure where the idea had come from or how it had the guts to be such a confident one, but it was snug like a blanket, so he wrapped himself in it. No too tightly, though, 'cause then he might realize it was as fake as any blanket made a dreams.

By the time Jack was done with this drugged, complacent stream of consciousness, all streams, of consciousness and every other kind, always runnin' back to Ennis if they were starting with Jack, Randall was placing a turkey sandwich in front a him. With grape juice.

"Shit, I'm not some old man has ta drink prune juice."

"It's grape juice. It's supposed to be good for you."

"I don't care if it's Pope juice, I want a beer."

"Jus' drink the juice."

"Shit." Jack didn't have the energy to argue. He did still have enough get-up-and-go, though to stumble across the hall and into the comfortable, white couch.

Before he finished his sandwich, he was fast asleep, wrapped in the soft cotton arms of a Jennifer Convertible. It had never been slept on by a guest before, but Jack sure didn't live here any more, not in his heart. He dreamt sweet dreams about life in an RV on the open road, and not in the least bit alone.

When he woke again, it was evening, that way the evenings came early in winter and seemed all the darker for it. Noises from the kitchen told him Lureen was home. He tried to stand, but the odd sleeping position, along with a sapping concentration of the white haze in his veins, made the pain overwhelming. He couldn't even help it that he cried out.

"Jack, you up?"

"Yeah." He wanted to ask her to bring painkillers, but felt bad askin' her for anything, with all the thoughts he'd been having in his head 'bout how he didn't belong here.

Still, though, when Lureen came out of the kitchen, she was carrying a pill bottle and a glass of water in her damp hands. Taking them from her, Jack lingered, felt that dampness. For better or worse, and maybe because she didn't have no choice, or maybe she was just a kind woman, Lureen was in this with him. She didn't have to fix him a Thanksgiving meal to prove that. He had a better meal anyway, the bland appearance of the white pill not withstanding.

Lureen wasted no time; it wasn't her style. "You takin' a trip or somethin', Jack?"

Jack gulped around a mouthful of water. He nodded curtly. "Rented an RV for Monday. I still gotta plan it, though."

"That sounds alright. You goin' alone?"

The dizzy room in browns and reds and creams collapsed on Jack in that sentence, falling like a real verdict against him. He couldn't do anything to stop the realization that he genuinely did not know the answer to that question. "I hope not." It was the best he could do.

"Well you tell me if you need me to do anythin'."

Sparing her a glance, he saw Lureen was already looking disinterested, eying the cover of a magazine sitting on the coffee table, her own cup of water marked red with lip stick. He'd had to bring the pointer finger to bear on Randall to get him to volunteer the same.

"Yeah, alright." And he meant it.

Jack hadn't been eating much. Just wasn't hungry, an' his stomach was upset lots. Lureen got take-out Chinese, which they'd been doin' more often, as Jack couldn't cook worth shit, not really, just camp food, and Lureen was constantly buried in her books. It tasted alright, an' Jack took the bed in the spare bedroom, not sayin' a word about it, an' hopin' Lureen wouldn't either.

She didn't.

The week went that way. Sometimes Randall would visit, tellin' Jack 'bout what was goin' on in the city while Jack was laid up here in a drug fog. Sometimes Lureen would take ten minutes out a her day to be distracted in Jack's general vicinity, and once she'd even called that "quality time." But through it all, constantly an undercurrent in his thoughts, waking and sleeping, in pain that pounded through his body in waves and made him grit his teeth, in his dull conversations with the ghost of people he called family and friends, in the music videos he was subjected to sittin' on the couch with Bobby an' Danielle, in the shapes his ball point pen made on the RV paper, was The Trip, and all the promises that word was startin' ta acquire for him.

He'd sent the check to the address in the phone book. A snowy mountain of letterhead in the trash can attested to the fact that it hadn't been simple. About a million drafts later, he'd ended up with:

_Alma, this is Jack Twist, Ennis friend. I am paying his child support for next month. Check is enclosed. Your choice to take it or not._

In the end that's what it came down to anyways, Alma's choice, so why mince fuckin' words about it.

That was barely the beginning, though, and Wednesday found Jack sitting up at the kitchen table, staring at another piece of paper. He had a plan, he had a plan, and he had no fuckin' choice. He hated to admit his hand was shakin' when he picked up the phone, but there it was for him to see. Jack knew that Ennis wouldn't come with him no way if he had to be at work that week.

"Hello, Rift Prairie Steer." She was a young woman. Sounded like somebody's daughter.

"Hello. Name's Jack Twist, ma'am. I was wonderin' who I should speak to 'bout hirin' off one a your employees fer 'bout a month."

"That'd be Mr. Stoutamire, the owner, sir. Can I forward you ta him?"

"That'd be real nice. Thank ya sweetheart."

"One minute please."

The minute seemed to stretch to an hour, but Jack would wait forever for this conversation. He thought it was nice Mr. Stoutamire ran his own place somewhat. Too many ranch owners totally took themselves out a their own business. Lot a ranches fold that way. Hell, lot a ranches fold other ways, too. At least the name Stoutamire sounded about right, Jack taking comfort in the familiar name. He was closin' in on Ennis like a fox on a rabbit hole, an' it made Jack grin sly enough ta put that fox to shame.

"Hello?"

Jack'd been holding the phone against his ear nearly long enough ta forget he was holding it. After a momentary start, and a whirring of _who the hell am I talking to, again?_ through his thoughts, Jack recouped and advanced. Stoutamire was an enemy until he was a friend, in this dog-cat-mouse game.

"Howdy. Name's Jack Twist. I own a business here in Childress, Texas. We been contracted ta do some work up there in Wyoming. I was lookin' ta hire on a couple men from your area, an' a friend of mine highly recommended one a your employees. What's the chances of pickin' 'im up for 'bout a month."

"Depends. Which employee?" Jack could see how Ennis might get on fine workin' for Stoutamire.

"Ennis del Mar?"

"Now. Mr. Twist, was it?"

"Yeah."

"What kind a comp'ny you said you run?"

"I didn't. We sell heavy-duty farm machinery. Top a the line."

"Well, if you don't mind my askin', why you want a hire someone like del Mar? Best thing he can drive is a quarter horse."

_Some other things he's good at drivin', but yeah, he sets a horse like heaven, too._ "You see, that's just 'zactly the point I'm drivin' at, Stoutamire. I'm sorry, I missed your first name." It was a strategy he knew and knew well. Get them at least talking on level with you.

"Martin."

"Martin. Surely you can see how someone want a go buy a tractor, they don't want one they can see a salesman drive in circles backwards an' forwards, they want somethin' they know corner like heaven in the hands of the men they hire."

"But why del Mar? He's one a my most useful men, I can tell you, and I'm havin' a shut down my business up here soon. I was countin' on del Mar bein' the last one out a here."

"Well I am sorry ta hear 'bout the business, Martin. Lot a hard times hittin' smaller operations these days, no doubt."

"Yeah. Why del Mar?" Martin Stoutamire, it seemed, was not easily sidetracked.

"I been led ta believe del Mar is the real deal. Ranch stiff all his life." Jack grimaced, havin' to use a less than flattering term to describe his-- to describe what he treasured an' looked up to. But this was a game, a trick, an' he had ta talk to Stoutamire like they understood one another. "I been told he wouldn't bullshit 'bout no equipment bein' good if it was bad, n' that folks 'round that way know him by that reputation."

"Well, whoever you're getting' your information from seems ta know Ennis del Mar, that's for sure."

_Yeah, no fucking kidding, buster._ "Is that a yes I'm hearin' in your voice?" Jack was well aware he hadn't heard anything a the sort, but he could sell a boat to a dolphin.

"No, wait here a minute. Why in hell should I let go a one of my most trustworthy men? Like I said, I gotta shut this place down, an' likely he won't even have no job to come back to in a month."

"Well, I'd say considering that case, why keep him on for a month when he could have a new job lined up? You surely don't want the man to starve."

"Well, maybe, but I rely on del Mar."

Jack couldn't help that maybe his chest puffed out a little bit with pride, his strong, proud stallion pullin' hard on the reins of his half-shit life. He'd said he was nothing an' nowhere, but Jack was hearin' some different from his boss. "Martin, no wonder you're business shuttin' down if you got only one man you can rely on." It would put Stoutamire on the defensive, and was a risky move, but Jack thought it would be alright.

"Look here. I got two dozen excellent cowboys 'round here. I wouldn't hire no less."

"Then surely you can let one middle-aged man look for work elsewhere."

"Well, it ain't totally up to me now. You talk to del Mar yet 'bout this? Reckon' it's his decision."

Jack knew that too well. It was his living fervent dream, his sleeping dreaded nightmare, the knowledge he tried to erase with opiates. But they even had the power to follow him to that white place. Pain or snow, there they were all the time: Ennis and his decisions.

"You just leave that up to me, now. 'Preciate it if you don't talk to him 'bout this. I got a deal he can't refuse in the works, an' I don't want him catchin' wind." All truths, for once this conversation.

"Don't know 'bout can't refuse. One thing you should know 'bout Ennis is he ain't tempted by things other men like. Tried ta give him a raise, but he wouldn't take it."

_He ain't tempted by things other men like. Maybe not other straight men, but Randall likes it just fine, an'_... Jack chuckled to Martin. "That so?"

"Yup. Raise mean he had ta cut his vacation time down, and one thing that man don't like to cut for no one is his precious vacation. We can't go givin' away time like that. We got stock needs feeding fifty-two a year, whether Ennis del Mar wants ta be off fuckin' in the mountains or what not."

Jack tried, but he could not restrain the guffaw. It was like strainin' against a two-ton pick-up, or Lureen's will, or Ennis's decisions-- impossible. Stoutamire, it seemed, had bent to trust him, bent to talking, in record time. That man's hyperbole, though, hit too close to home for a straight face. The rest a the news, a silent testament straight from Ennis's boss to Jack of Ennis's feelings, a testament that Ennis himself wouldn't a delivered unless the world were comin' to an end (But hadn't he delivered more a couple weeks ago in the mountains? Or did that count as the world comin' to an end?)-- that rest seeped in slowly an' would have its way with Jack eventually, he was sure. But for now, he had work ta do.

"So, how much can I give ya for del Mar? Seein' as how you might have ta hire someone ta replace him an' all that?" Christ, he hated this, tradin' on Ennis like Ennis had no say in his own life. Ennis might be alright with not givin' Jack a say, but the reverse didn't sit well with him.

"Well. Tell you what, since you're gonna hafta offer him somethin' sweet, how 'bout jus' his normal wages, 'bout fifteen hundred. Plus rent on the trailer he usin', another four hundred."

Jack's thoughts piled in his head on top of each other, one screamin', _Christ, that all Ennis makes?_ The other yellin', _That's gonna hurt my saving's account, and no mistake_. But it was fine. Jack had the money. He'd been so taken in by his own lie-- an important thing when you're a salesman, ta believe your own lies, an' somethin' Jack had been doin' since he was a boy (and he hoped to God he wasn't doin' it right now, too, 'bout this whole damn trip)-- he was already thinkin' of offering Ennis money for the month. But he was offerin' room an' board, an' something else that couldn't never get reported on a W-2.

Jack agreed, took down the address, wrote the check, an' popped it inta the mail that very day, tellin' Stoutamire that if Ennis showed up fer work on Wednesday next a.m., Stoutamire could keep the money and the man.

Alright. He thought he was prepared. Anything that coulda kept Ennis in Riverton was taken care of, 'cept his girls proper, and there wasn't anything Jack could do about that. There were always some wild cards and compromises in any sale. Jack had ta hope his doctor's warning would outweigh the girls. He felt like crap for even playing that card, and when push come to shove, he wasn't sure that he would. The cancer was _real_. It had been _here_. Speaking its name could summon the curse. Admitting his frailty might make it so. Or worse yet, it might bring back in a rush of cold that pain that was worse than anything physical, that pain of seein' Ennis's face clench up tight n'...

Jack couldn't be sure what he would or would not do standin' on the gravel drive of Ennis's trailer, but he felt suddenly sure as stone there wouldn't be no C-word about it. He didn't want Ennis to come out a pity, an' he didn't want Ennis ta come out a fear. If those were his choices, he'd go on the road trip his fuckin' own self. Being guilted an' blamed an' feelin' like scum the whole time would only be worse by a mile and a half.

Most of his task accomplished, Jack spent the next day in bed, tired beyond belief. He wasn't sure how he'd managed ta play that salesman's game ten times a day, day-in and day-out, for years, and yet this one time it'd worn him out completely. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he made a mental note to refill the Tylenol-3 before headin' off. He wasn't runnin' low yet, but havin' it... The little bottle of white pills made a clunky noise, each hittin' the next when he rattled the plastic container. They had a dusty feelin' between his fingertips, and went down easier than a pill of their size really had a right to.

But the best thing about them, the best thing he'd ever known next to one thing, was layin' in bed all day, starin' at the ceiling, an' not feelin' an ounce of pain, or boredom, or heartache, not a hint of guilt or laziness, not even the waft of hunger or thirst. Maybe it was like bein' dead, but if that were so, death wasn't too bad. It was lovely, and stark white clean, and downy with smiles. Dark, and deep, and alone, but quiet and still. Peaceful.

The next day, though, Jack begrudgingly hauled himself out of bed in the late afternoon, and began hauling out old road atlases and maps. It was tiring work, an' he rested often, but seeing his yellow highlighter line slowly snake a trail across half of what he considered the whole known world--. That yellow highlighter line was like sunshine. Those yellow swallowtails from Brokeback were already flitting up along the route to play with dots of varying sizes: cities, towns, and some things that looked like towns but probably weren't more than gas stations. Right now they were just dots, but when Jack looked at the map just the right way, he saw they were memories of a lifetime just waiting to happen.

When Randall visited that day, Jack didn't refuse sleep. But he did make the devil's deal with him. He slept a sound, cotton-colored slumber while Randall put in phone calls to nearly every RV park in the West, only to report later to Jack they were all almost empty and he could go wherever he pleased. Jack should have felt like a jerk for imposing this thing on Randall, but instead he felt just a little be mollified after the insults Randall had had for Ennis over the years, rarely overt insults, but there hanging in the space between them nonetheless. _I guess I'm prepared to call it even now._ Randall's hangdog look about the ordeal drove the thought home, an' Jack wouldn't ask anything like that from him again.

The week wound down, the calm before the storm. Jack packed a bag, and Lureen helped him, laundering this n' that. Bobby was thrilled that "hookertown" was on his agenda, while Lureen was jealous 'bout California. Jack hadn't thought past the week ahead an' whether he would be retuning to Childress to live full time, but when he had to really think about it, he guessed he would be back here in a month, an' he would bring them souvenirs.

Sunday night, Lureen's parents came over for dinner, and Lureen made a chicken alfredo dish. She mentioned that Jack was goin' on a trip. L.D. showed some sense in protestin', "No father a my grandson gonna drive halfway across the country alone when he's sick."

"His friend goin' with him." Bobby was too innocent to know differently.

_No, Bobby, no._ Somehow, he didn't know how L.D. knew, but he got the distinct impression the man did, maybe had always. Smelled it on him like a dog. He had his share of feelin' knowed, too, just didn't let it freeze him up the way Ennis did.

Jack could look across the table at Lureen and see those same thoughts echoed back to him twofold. The cold emptiness shifted around the table, L.D. awkwardly frowning at Bobby, while Fayette seemed fascinated with the chicken. Lureen cleared her throat and commented to her mother 'bout the ladies quilting circle, though Lureen didn't quilt and probably didn't much care. No need to go there here an' now. Bobby, no doubt, had noticed something'd gone wrong, but had the sense not to ask, or maybe not to care.

An' finally when all'd been said as could be said, an' all'd been done that could be done, Lureen drove Jack to Brambillas Inc. on Monday morning before work. She kissed him on the cheek and told him to call her if he needed anything, anything at all. He couldn't help himself an' hugged her smaller frame tight to his own. The noise that escaped from her throat didn't escape from his hearing. He had so much to say to her, but the words weren't with him now, so he held her for a minute and hoped that did the trick.

When she was peelin' out, the salesman came over, and showed Jack to his RV. On the outside it was tan-ish with a brown stripe.

The first thing Jack noticed when he stepped inside was, looking straight back with the bathroom door open, the whole place seemed to be arranged around the toilet like it was some kind a shrine.

It would more than serve. Fuzzy green seats divided the driving section from the rest, where a patchwork-colored futon paraded as prime sleeping space, and two patchwork-colored chairs flanked a little fold-out table. The patchwork itself was awful, like someone's turkey dinner had been vomited up at quilting circle, but the chairs were velvety and soft.

The chair section gave way to a kitchen. The sink was small and had a cover so it could be used as a counter. There was a simple patchwork booth seat with a good-size table, an oven and stove, and microwave that looked too small for a piece of pizza. Fridge, freezer, closet, bathroom. The housekeeping package, he found out, was things like pots n' pans and towels, an' he was more than grateful that he'd gotten it, since he hadn't thought to pack any a that shit. He turned down the extra insurance on account of worry about finances (he did have a month of spendin' ahead a him, an' not a limitless supply of cash), let the clerk show him the ropes, and peeled on out of Childress, Texas by ten a.m., his pile a maps and notes splayed across the passenger seat and central island of the driving section like more patchwork to go on chairs.

Jack found the ride rough. The road was bumpy in spots, and after a while all his insides ached, but he was afraid ta take his medicine. The painkillers numbed his senses, slowed his brain. He didn't think he'd be able to stay either on the road or alive if he took 'em while driving (an' it said right on the side a the bottle not to...). By the time evening came, Jack was in enough pain an' felt heavy enough fatigue, just from sitting on his ass all day, to pull into a rest stop, double up his dosage, and sleep a painless, white sleep.

In the morning, he got going again, but stopped more often, napped here n' there. He wasn't ready to admit it yet, but he was weary an' sick with pain by the time he pulled through those same Riverton streets he'd traversed a couple weeks earlier. It was a sad shock ta see that this expert distance driver couldn't hardly do this well-known trip alone. Maybe he could get back ta Texas, where Lureen was waiting. An' if he couldn't, Lureen'd pick him up. Not without some bitchin', but she' come. So no matter what, it'd be alright. _So why the hell'm I sweatin' so much?_ Tuesday late afternoon found Jack in front a Ennis del Mar's trailer home, soaked through with anxious sweat.

An RV crunch on gravel was the only signal Jack sent. The Airstream shimmered in the cold twilight, glowing like it was on fire. Without hardly thinkin' 'bout how he hurt from head to toe, how he hadn't had medicine in hours 'cause he'd wanted to cover those miles before nightfall, Jack leapt down out of the driver's seat onto the hard, cold ground, wrapping his jacket around him.

Jack wasn't yet three steps to the door when it swung open, and he stood face to face, lookin' up into the shimmerin' twilight and dusk of fiery eyes set in age-worn skin. Jack was shamed to say he couldn't read the expression it bore. Angry? Surprised? Relieved? Could it be all three?

"Jack? What you-- How you-- What--" Ennis's eyes flitted back and forth 'tween Jack and the Fleetwood Pace Arrow. Time froze in temperatures that were hoverin' 'round near zero for probably the last time 'til spring. Jack didn't speak. The truth was, he hadn't yet figured out what ta say. But Ennis found a couple words. "Why the hell didn't you call? You have any idea how fuckin' worried I was?"

"Well, you talked to my Mama."

"You heard 'bout that, then?"

"Yeah, she told me." Jack was feeling the ache of every inch of the fifteen feet of space between them, but his everything was balanced on this razor's edge, an' even though he'd come a thousand miles, the last fifteen feet proved the hardest.

Luckily, Ennis must have felt the cold space, too, because he crossed it, and was squeezing Jack, like he had ta believe Jack was real.

"Hey now, I'm alright. Or I will be long as you don't squeeze the air right on out a me." Jack didn't even hug back. He was too preoccupied, wanted ta talk to Ennis before Ennis got him in a state not fit for talkin'. Jack pried Ennis loose, and they stood a moment bashfully. For all them years together, sometimes they were more pathetic than Bobby and Danielle.

"What's all this now?" Ennis gestured towards the RV, wary and frightened by the look of him. He probably had reason to be, but Jack had to pounce before Ennis put his guard up.

"I'm goin' on a road trip."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Where to?"

"Oh, all sorts a places."

"This thing drive alright?"

"She's not too bad. Sort a cranky. Bumpy, you know. Ain't totally mended, so it hurts like the dickens sometimes, but I got painkillers, so I deal."

"Yeah?" Ennis was frownin'. "So, uh, you wanna come in or somethin'?"

"Maybe. But I got some things I want to discuss with you first."

"Out here in the cold?"

"Good a place as any." Jack wanted ta get his answer soon, needed ta keep Ennis off balance so Ennis couldn't ground himself in fear too quickly.

"Alright. Say whut you came here ta say, Jack." _Uh oh, he sounds defensive already. Too soon, too soon._

"Well, jus'... I talked to your boss, an' got--"

"You did?"

"Yeah, I talked ta him 'bout hirin' you off a--"

"That why he tol' me good riddance?" Ennis looked pissed now. _Fuck._

"I--"

"You talk to Alma, too, Jack? Got a nasty phone call from Alma all 'bout some kind a dirty money. You know 'bout that, Jack?" Ennis's eyes had narrowed to accusing slits.

"I might a given you a little child support help, yeah, friend. Least I can do, since you don't got a job."

"Yeah, an' whose fault is that?" His lips pursed tight.

"Listen, I jus'--"

"You think you can come on up here and mess 'round in my life, huh?"

Jack brought his finger up to bear. "Now, you--"

"Jack fuckin' Twist don't know how to respect a man's privacy if his life depend on it."

"Just needed ta--"

"Fuckin' shit. Didn't ask you for none a it, nothin'."

"Now look here," Jack finally raised his voice, needing to be heard, suddenly aware of how his voice traveled outside to bounce off of neighboring trailers, dull compared to the sunset-Airstream. "I just had 'bout the worst three weeks a my life, an' you think you got a right ta stand out here an' make me feel worse 'bout it, then you can go to hell, Ennis del Mar." And he meant it. "I didn't ask for any a this shit, neither." Feelin' all the pain roaring up with his fiery anger, burnin' up all parts a him inside, Jack turned and started back towards the RV. It was the last time he planned on traveling these steps away from Ennis, though he couldn't begin to know what the ramifications of that would be. Still, somehow he'd know this was the pivot point on which his future turned.

"Well then your memory goin', Jack, 'cause way I remember it, you was askin' loud n' clear since Brokeback. I remember that night, Jack. You was beggin'." Ennis was demanding attention, just a kid throwin' a tantrum in a candy aisle. Jack was too worn out to deal with that boy. He hadn't never signed on to be a father ta the orphan boy, that boy that seemed ta lose his sense of up and down from simply seein' a dead man in a ditch. Well Jack had seen some things, too. He'd seen a horse with its brains blowed out, but it wouldn't never keep him from ridin'.

He turned slowly, letting his eyes meet Ennis's. "Fuck you." He said it so low it didn't hardly carry any anger. In fact, he was surprised to see he wasn't even angry any more. Ennis was trying to defile the mountain, like he'd tried to defile everything that was between them. Jack had long understood that Ennis sometimes cursed this thing, but now was not the right time, pulling out from under Jack the only rock he had left to stand on. There was echoing hollowness where those butterflies used to bang against his heart. Maybe Jack was truly dead, or maybe it was the hammerin' pain makin' everything else obsolete.

"I got bigger problems now, Ennis. Real, life-and-death problems. You still livin' in a ten-year-old's temper tantrum. You ever want to grow up enough to deal with big boy problems... Shit, just fuck you. I gotta go lie down."

And by now, it was more than true. Jack felt sick with pain. He'd stood more, fought more, in the past month than he had in most of his life, felt like, and he'd come to an end, drained of something. Without even knowing if Ennis said anything after that, an' suspecting he did 'cause Ennis didn't like nothing better'n gettin' in the last word, Jack stormed into the RV and fell into the patchwork couch. His body slammed against it in a jolt of pain, and not until he was prone did he remember that the painkillers were in the glove compartment. "Shit," he hissed, but hurt to much. Decided just to lie there for a couple minutes. Feel better first, then go get 'em. Jack gritted his teeth and floundered to find his breath, glad he hadn't broken down _entirely_ in front of Ennis, anyway.

But Jack heard the RV door swing open with a curse. Jack went on ignorin' it. Had he had more energy, he might a roused more, give Ennis a lecture 'bout who's invading who's space now. But he just lied there, in some ways just the shadow of the real Jack inside his head.

"You alright? You don't look-- Don't you got those painkillers? Sumthin'?"

"In the glove compartment." Jack kept his eyes closed, jaw tight against the pain.

Ennis fished them out, rummaged in the kitchen area to find a glass, and filled it with water. He brought them both to Jack: pale white life and the quench for his thirsts, in Ennis's hands.

"How many?"

"Give me two."

Ennis squinted at the bottle, holdin' it at arms length. "You sure? Time I tore my shoulder or whatever they had me take sumthin'..."

"Give me two goddamn pills, you bastard!"

"Shit."

Jack swallowed hungrily, needing to go to the place only they could take him. The double dose swam fast into his blood. The pain eased down, cowering before the setting sun's intruding rays that seemed a gentle stream of golden water, water made of air, floating through the Arrow.

When Jack woke again, it was full dark. The moon was new: a month since the mountains. He must have missed a full moon when he was in the hospital. Through the pitch darkness, though, he smelled nicotine and saw a red flare light its way across the black gulf of RV.

"Ennis. That you?"

The red light flickered, moved a bit. Wordlessly it rose an' came towards him. "You cold?"

"Maybe a little."

A blanket hit him square in the chest. Ennis just stood there. They couldn't see each other through the darkness, but they didn't have to be able to see each other to look into each other's eyes no more.

"Jack, I'm... ," Ennis's voice cracked, like a teenager's, like young love, fear, restlessness. "Look, I didn't mean them things I said. Jus' don't sit right..."

"I know, Ennis." Jack sat up taller to speak to him. "I just don't got the time n' energy ta have these fights with you no more. Right now.. right now I need some things you might not know how ta give me, and truth is, I jus' don't know what ta do about it."

"Yeah, an' I see that." Ennis reached out and gripped Jack's shoulder.

"You jus'..."

"Hush now. I'm tryin' a apologize proper here. I just... can't believe I said them things."

"It's alright."

Ennis removed his hand from Jack's shoulder an' toyed nervously with his cigarette. "Nuh-uh, it ain't alright. That night... just can't believe I said them things. Just about one a the best nights a my life. You always the brave one, an' the thanks you get from me... I guess I'm a real jerk, huh? Spoutin' that shit, an' even at a sick man."

"Naw, Ennis, come on. You'd be a jerk even if I weren't sick."

"I know it."

"An I ain't that sick, you know."

"Could a fooled me."

"Jus' a little pain. Gotta give me some kind a break. Just got out a the hospital."

"Yeah. An' how was you thinkin' a takin' this trip, huh? Can't even stand in my driveway." Ennis sat on the patchwork next to Jack's back, shoving him over a bit. Before Jack knew it, he was being pulled back against Ennis's warm chest, the blanket tucked lightly around him. He leaned back n' sighed like a girl, an' didn't even care, 'cause that hole only Ennis filled had been ripped wider an' wider, an' needed more filling now than maybe ever.

Jack shrugged, still drug hazy.

"Your doctor know 'bout this?"

"Was his idea."

"Was his idea ta go drivin' all over kingdom come with an RV size a Mount Moran, huh?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You ok? What-- what's this? Sort a like a, like a last..." Ennis made a sound in his throat and Jack had to shut his eyes against the darkness closing in. Maybe that's why Ennis had been so damn short to anger. He'd seen Jack maybe was turnin' up here to proclaim a death sentence to them all, an' wasn't it nature ta shoot the messenger?

"Hell no. No last nothing. My doctor just felt like maybe I'd earned myself a vacation."

"So you doin' alright?"

"Best as can be expected."

"You sure you don't gotta be back there?"

"Ennis. I am a grown man. I am capable of havin' a intelligent conversation with my own doctor."

"Right."

Jack made a stab in the dark, fishin' for the glow of Ennis's cigarette.

"Hell no."

"What the hell."

"You got your health now."

"An what about your health?" He felt Ennis shrug.

"Anyway," Jack continued, "you know I am still mad at you for pullin' that stunt out there, bringin' it back to that. You really wish I never went for none a this that night on the mountain, huh?"

"Naw," he sighed, "you know that ain't true. An' 'sides, don't matter what I wish for," Ennis said quiet.

"You know it matters to me, Ennis."

"Ain't... ain't no use in wishin' 'bout the past noways. Can't change it."

"You know you could stop blamin' me for things I did twenty years ago that, as I recall, you seemed ta like at the time."

Ennis grunted, but it was amused. "What you say to Alma, anyway. She was real worked up."

"She called you?"

"Yeah. I gave Junior my number, since now I got one. Alma was... well, she was in fine form. Heard your name mentioned a couple times. Alma don't swear, but she get her anger across in other ways."

"Imagine so."

"You just send her a check?"

"An' a note. Basically sayin', 'here's Ennis's check.'"

"How you know how much?"

"Talked to Junior."

Ennis grew still an' silent at that. "You talked ta Junior?"

"Yeah. Sweet kid. Real smart, real cautious, but she gets to the point. Lot a her daddy in her."

"Reckon' so."

"Don't worry, I won't go runnin' off with your kid, Ennis."

"Better fuck not," but he chuckled a little bit.

"Anyway, I got a get back to sleep, I'm gonna head back ta Texas in the morning."

"I thought you was goin' on this road trip?"

"You know as well as I do I ain't good 'nough ta go it alone." Jack tried to keep the sadness from his voice, but failed. Miserably.

"I still owe you that favor?"

Jack blew a breath out a his mouth. "Reckon you do... that was some shit in an' of itself."

"Yup, you... You a good man, Jack. Stand up for your word."

"Yeah, well, an' not always. But you know that."

"I sure do. Guess I held you accountable for breakin' promises you didn't make."

"Guess so."

"But I broke plenty a ones I didn't make, neither."

Jack turned his head, all ears.

"I sure wish I could come on this trip with you, Jack."

"But you can't." The three words were bitter all over.

"Nope."

"An' why's that?"

"I ain't been invited."

Jack knew then this must all be a dream. The nighttime and the fading sounds of darkness in his ears were pulling him away from Ennis too soon, but he managed to mumble still, "Well, you want a come, then?"

The sound Ennis made was like laughter, but all he said was, "I'm unemployed now, guess I got no choice."

When Jack woke again, he thought for a moment it _had_ been a dream, until he heard the sound that'd roused him up. For the rest of his life he thought it'd be music to his ears, an' sittin' up to look behind him towards its source, his breath failed him. Ennis was leanin' over the booth table, all of Jack's maps spread in front a him, shufflin' an' cursin' an foldin' an' unfoldin', a shaft of golden dawn light making a beam from the window across where he, an' the maps, an' all of it, stood. Ennis n' the trip together, framed in liquid gold on the plastic table.

"Happy Thanksgiving."

The two words drew a puzzled look from Ennis, who said in response, "you can't get a proper road atlas or nothin'?"

But Jack didn't mind, 'cause he knew-- what had been set before him now was the finest banquet any pilgrim ever seen.

Jack weren't one ta pass up good food, neither. Feelin' about a million times better after of full night a sleep, Jack pissed, then went to work next to Ennis, refolding maps, distracting Ennis best he knew how with the stretch of his body.

Before even half the maps was folded, Jack was hard at work showin' Ennis that the golden banquet table was indeed big enough for two.


	8. Chapter 8: Mountain Shadows

Characters come to me from Annie Proulx, and I don't profit from them.

Beta'd by Marakeshsparrow aka Jessymama.

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Chapter 8: Mountain Shadows 

One thing Jack hated 'bout winter in Wyomin' was that you were always cold. All the damn time. Even when you got warm, it was like the warm didn't last very long-- just long enough so you felt twice as cold next time you went outside.

This winter wasn't any different. It was December now, and the wind was as unforgiving as the back of his daddy's hand. It railed right through him without mercy, not caring that he was already frozen. It was out for blood.

So Jack was mighty pissed when Ennis managed to lock him out of both the RV and the Airstream. Jack'd been checkin' on the tire pressure now that he'd driven two days, rememberin' 'bout Bobby's flat. He'd finished only to find the RV locked, the Airstream locked, an' that left him just where he was now, at Ennis's front door, banging like a banshee and shoutin' curse words that prob'ly wouldn't a made no sense even if you could hear them over the howling gale. Wednesday had broke cold.

"Got a problem here?," The door swung open in Jack's face. "Can't ya handle a little breeze?"

"Fuck you. That ain't no breeze, it's like a... a..." Jack pushed his way past Ennis into the warm interior of Ennis's bleak living space.

"A what?"

"Never mind."

"You know 'bout the weather in California?"

"No, I'm not sure."

"You didn't check the papers or nothin'?"

"Sorry, I had other things on my mind."

"Shit."

"But I think it's warm. They got palm trees, stuff like that, don't they?"

"How the hell should I know?"

"Why, you thinkin' a bringing your speedos?"

"My what?" The joke was totally lost on Ennis.

"Never mind. You 'bout done packin'?" Jack was rubbing his hands to warm them.

Ennis had one small sack a clothes, and a pillow case of some other things-- a too-thin blanket, a too-flat pillow. "Yup. No way ta be prepared seein' as how you didn't give me no notice."

Jack and Ennis each took a bag, Ennis locked the door up tight, and they crossed the cold-as-hell-froze-over space so Ennis could unlock the RV. Jack suppressed the urge to grab the keys back, secure his own warmth in the future.

But Jack was indebted to Ennis. Ennis had been kinda right about Jack's preparation skills. As much work as he had put into this trip, he had been so concerned 'bout gettin' Ennis ta come along with him that he hadn't thought much 'bout the actual trip. Jack had a couple a maps and notes, but Ennis, in his meticulous way, had done one thing 'fore Jack had even woke up. He'd driven all the way to town ta visit a guy who worked on the ranch with him. This guy apparently had a tow dolly for sale, and Ennis had bought it on credit between friends. When Jack'd found out about it an' tried to pay, Ennis insisted that Jack had already paid by oversteppin' his bounds and buttin' 'tween Ennis an' Alma. Jack took that to mean the child support. Jack didn't like the idea of Ennis bein' in debt with someone on his account. He tried to convince Ennis to take the money temporarily and pay _Jack_ back 'ventually, but Ennis had glared at him, and at the last Jack understood that Ennis, much as he probably didn't want ta add to his own debt, didn't wanna be in debt to Jack even worse. Jack left that ta ponder on another day.

The tow dolly was 'cause Jack hadn't done much thinkin' 'bout how they was gonna get around once they got to where they were headed. He could see now he wasn't plannin' on drivin' the RV through cities an' stuff, but Jack just hadn't thought about it. So Ennis had hitched up the tow dolly and hooked his own truck up to it, noting with a satisfied grunt that its absence would support Jack's lie to Ennis's boss that Jack had hired Ennis away, taken him somewhere to sell farm equipment. Jack had told Ennis all the details of that over breakfast. His response had been a calm nod and a "makes sense," adding that he knew the ranch was folding, and in truth he didn't have any real want ta be the last person 'round there. Ennis did admit that he was gonna have some trouble findin' work after the ranch closed, since he didn't have this month head start, but it seemed to Jack that Ennis was dead-hard determined not ta take that frustration out on Jack or lay the blame at his feet. Jack's chest had puffed with pride. Lookin' at the bucket of bolts bein' dragged unwilling behind the RV, Jack just hoped Ennis's truck was as full of that determination as Ennis was himself.

After Ennis unlocked the driver's side, both ready ta leave on the trip for good, there was a moment of confusion before Jack nodded an' went 'round to the passenger side. Ennis was not a distance driver, Jack knew, but he wasn't too bad, could go eight hours or so, 'cause that hardly counted as distance. Jack felt a little sting to his pride, though, bein' a damn good driver himself. It was one a the few things Jack had any right ta be proud of. His driving was easy on the gas tank and the break pads. Never been in no accident. Never so much as got a speeding ticket. Had a habit of showing trucks they could pull a few more mph's than they knew. He knew every last sound his transmission was supposed to make. On top a that, he could drive with his knees if his hands were full, and through the night without falling asleep. But now, not on the road ten minutes, he was fighting a heavy sense a fatigue, like checkin' the tire pressure was a full day's hard labor. He fought it every moment he could, tryin' a muster the energy for a typical one-sided conversation with Ennis, ownin' that much. Instead he dropped into a world of comical shapes and impossible colors, bright events hiding sinister intent. His dreams were troubled like a child's would be.

But even in that unconscious place, he somehow knew that Ennis was right beside him.

Jack was awoken by a gentle shake on his shoulder. "You alright with fast food?" Ennis had his nose wrinkled like a little kid eyein' vegetables, and Jack gathered that fast food weren't one a his favorites. Jack, years on roads and runnin' home after work, with a wife that could cook but didn't want to most nights, had grown accustomed to the greasy laxative taste of McDonald's or Arby's. Lureen preferred Burger King, but Jack thought the fries there were crap.

"Fast food sounds alright." Jack recognized the sleepy edge on his own voice. "How long I been out?"

"'Bout four hours."

The dash clock ticked steady at one thirty seven.

Ennis continued. "There's a exit 'bout a mile down the road, had signs for all kind a places. Right near Evanston."

"We that far already?"

"Yup."

They pulled off the highway and into a McDonald's parking lot. Ennis was still seein' himself as in charge, and that suited Jack fine, still shrouded in a sleepy haze. "How 'bout I bring the food on out? Bet we can make Salt Lake 'fore dark ."

"Sounds good." And it did. "We still gotta find us a RV park when we get there."

Ennis shook his head, but all he said was, "What kinda food you want?"

"Big Mac meal, Diet Coke."

Ennis was half hanging out of the RV when his head snapped up. "You drink that?"

"Save my calories for the stuff that counts, friend." Jack winked at him. He wasn't exactly dieting, but Lureen'd switched to Diet Coke a couple years back, and Jack hadn't been given much choice, so he was pretty used to the artificial flavor. It tasted like everything else in is life: bought fast, full a preservatives, and chemical-laced. Sure, Ennis didn't like fast food. He was used to food from cans. But in the end that weren't no better, really. Still fast, fake, an' made by someone else.

Ten minutes later, double-fisting a Big Mac, mustache smudged with special sauce of the G-rated variety for once, Jack was feeling a lot more like himself. The nap had done him good. He and Ennis rode on for a while, Ennis grumbling at his double cheeseburger while he ate it, but leaving his fries untouched. Ennis had a cup of joe instead of a soda. Jack watched, mesmerized. He'd never got to see Ennis order McDonald's before. He'd had no idea what Ennis would order, though he knew Lureen's preference forwards and backwards. He reckoned he and Ennis were bound to learn an awful lot about livin' in the real world with each other in the weeks to come, and the thought filled him up. He thought maybe he was soarin' down the highway 'stead a sittin' in the passenger seat.

"So," Ennis cleared his throat with some hesitation. "You, uh, why don' you tell me what your doctor said, huh?" Ennis spared Jack a squintin' glance before darting back to the blinking yellow line beneath a clear winterblue sky.

Jack was 'bout as unthrilled as could be to have this thought imposin' on his perfect ride. There was just a dusting of snow, enough to catch in protected, shady spots and North-facing hills. Jack hoped wherever they were that they'd see a white Christmas. He heaved a big ol' sigh. He would have utterly ignored Ennis if Jack didn't have an inkling that this had been bothering Ennis for probably the four hours he'd driven, and maybe the good portion of the night that he'd sat awake as well. "I swear to God, Ennis, I'm fine."

"Yeah, that a direct quote from your doc?" Threats and fears mingling in Ennis's tone.

"Yeah, well, maybe not exactly."

"Uh huh."

"Look, Ennis, can we just talk about this some other time?"

"Yeah, when?"

"Well, first of all, maybe when you're in a calmer mood. I swear to God you got a temper when you want to--"

"Not like you, huh?"

Jack sighed hard, swallowing the sound in Diet Coke. He seemed to fight more with Ennis these days than with Lureen and Randall put together, but God Almighty that man could make it worth it when he wanted to. Jack knew Ennis's fighting was just another tantrum, sadness and fear getting the better of him. Ennis's emotions had been runnin' higher than Ennis was used to, Ennis's hand slipping on the tight reins of control in all arenas, and Jack knew that was his own fault. He decided to start this conversation over, keeping that in mind. "Look, either we gotta have this conversation later, or we gotta pull off a the road an' have it face ta face."

Ennis took the invitation, and pulled right off onto the undersized shoulder of the deserted two-lane interstate. Jack was shocked; usually Ennis was all for avoidance as long as possible. But this was some kind a new Ennis that looked fears and dangers head on. After all, he was on a road trip with Jack, wasn't he?

Maybe, in the end, none a this scared Ennis as much. Maybe Ennis's preoccupation with that other fear, fear Jack didn't want to name, was startin' ta make Ennis lose sight of some fears that had bound Ennis all his life. Jack's years as a salesman made him good at readin' people, and time had made him good at readin' Ennis, but this was all new territory, and left Jack with precious little solid ground. But the old ground was rutted deep and muddy. Jack was momentarily grateful for the exhilarating, rushing fear of being pathless once again.

Ennis practically threw the RV into park, and wasted no time turnin' his whole body towards Jack, accusations flaring in his eyes. "Talk. Whut you not tellin' me?"

"Ennis..."

"We havin' this conversation or ain't we?"

"Yeah." Jack blew out a cold breath that rivaled the wind, pullin' from the west, too, from California and all the places they was headin' together. "The doctor says I'm in the clear, Ennis. I'm not shittin' you." Jack let the words sink in for emphasis, knowing that was what Ennis needed ta hear. "Thing is, he ain't too optimistic. He says-- I don't hardly know 'bout this stuff-- but he said..." Jack made the mistake now of lookin' up to Ennis's eyes. Where he was expectin' ta find his old, grumpy cowboy, he saw something warm, some deep well in Ennis's eyes, eyes looking exactly like they had that second night together up on the mountain, when Ennis come to him in that tent. Ennis was full of fear, but needin' ta take it all in. Jack inhaled and continued, careful this time not to look up. "I guess he thought it might not be gone forever."

"He say that?"

"Somethin' like that."

"How long?"

"How long what?" Jack finally flicked his eyes back up, hearing Ennis's self-protective walls lock back into place along with his terse words.

Ennis wasn't able to answer, to elaborate on a question he probably didn't want to ask in any form, feared the answer to. He was pressin' a finger into the green leather of the steering wheel. The whole livin' part of the RV was done in patchwork browns, but the drivin' part was done in greens. It was the part of the RV the world saw, forest-colored, less garish. The patchwork part was private, was the bed and the table. As out-of-place as the brown might be, Jack preferred it to the threadbare greens.

Outside the RV, a red-tailed hawk circled lazily over the road, maybe waitin' ta kill some critter that crossed the road at an unfortunate time. Jack was beginnin' ta think he wouldn't never see the road ahead himself. He was stuck on the shoulder of a deserted highly in a RV with Ennis. Though he reckoned there were worse places to be stuck-- and plenty a worse people to be stuck with.

"I could live forever," Jack shot a toothy grin at Ennis from under his mustache. "Come 'ere." Jack reached a hand across the center console, laying it gently on Ennis's cheek. They weren't quite out in the open, but Jack was still surprised when Ennis leaned into his palm instead of slapping it away.

"Jack." Ennis's voice was hoarse, thick, settling into a frightening place.

"Ennis." Jack kept his hand there, against Ennis's warm cheek, arm stretched awkwardly across the too-wide RV. Ennis kept his eyes closed, so Jack went on. "I could get sick on this trip. If I do, I got a go back to Childress immediat'ly. You understand?" Ennis nodded against his palm. "But I could not get sick on this trip, too, or never again. I might just end up more attached to you than I am now, you keep bein' sweet to me. So you better watch out. 'Cause we in whole new territory." Jack felt Ennis's jaw clench. Dropped his voice through his smile, he continued. "We're keepin' promises now, ain't we." It wasn't a question. "So can't neither one a us make ones we don't intend ta keep."

Ennis's eyes flickered open and caught Jack's over Jack's outstretched arm. Jack jerked away like he'd been caught doin' something he shouldn't. The only person that'd caught him was Ennis, but in the past, that had been enough. Ennis didn't give him the judgin' look he was expecting, though. Instead he just put the RV back in gear, climbin' onto the highway.

Underneath Ennis's silence, Jack saw nothin' but his own questions, his own doubts, his own dreams. He'd barreled through his own carefully-practiced veneer of detachment, cultivated from decades of Ennis's mixed up feelings, right on the side of this road, and he couldn't even read the results on Ennis's weather-worn face.

The RV was a slow moving creature. But once it got under way, it was big as three tanks, stronger'n any storm, ready ta pull on right through. Hearing the song a unstoppable tires on asphalt was like the earth singing Jack fresh again. Maybe all these years it'd been just a lullaby to quiet him for this moment, but it went on singing as the RV flew west.

They arrived in Salt Lake around dinner time. Jack took some scraps of paper from the glove box, and suggested a place called "Mountain Shadows" in Draper, so Ennis just followed his directions. Jack smiled to see that Mountain Shadows was just exactly that, an RV park at the base of a mountain, and that felt just about right. Ennis sat parked while Jack went on in ta the little office and got a site. He payed extra for one with a shade tree, even though it was winter, an' there was about a half inch on the ground here. There wasn't a leaf anywhere in sight.

They parked the RV and hooked up all the lines, plannin' to stay five whole nights. After that, they walked to a little general store on the grounds, keeping their distance and their silence. There wasn't much in the store in the way a groceries, but with a practiced eye for fast and flavorful foods, Jack dumped a handful of frozen burritos and a few cans of soup into his little green basket. He also added some crackers and cheese, the makings a hot dogs, and some Diet Coke like he was used to drinkin' at home.

Jack eventually rejoined Ennis, who was putterin' around the back aisle grumbling to himself.

"You alright there?"

Ennis spun around, dropping spray deodorant into Jack's basket. "Don't got no liquor in this damned Mormon hellhole."

Jack laughed. "You been here three minutes and you already hate it."

"Don't see how they think it's alright ta run an operation like this without beer." Ennis was walking away from Jack through the aisles, grabbing some beef jerky on his way.

"All ya had ta do was ask."

Ennis pinned Jack with a questioning glare.

"You think I'm so damned unprepared all the time. I didn't have time ta get a good map because I was busy fillin' the closets with liquor." Jack chuckled.

Ennis turned, lips pursed in something like anger, eyes scanning around the store just once. Jack could see as well as Ennis that the old man working the register had his nose buried in a tabloid. Ennis turned back, catching Jack's eyes with a meaningful head tilt, grabbed Jack's basket, and went to the register to pay as if he couldn't get back fast enough.

That night was just about heaven for Jack. They sat outside the RV at their little fire pit, going through more hot dogs 'n beer than could possibly be healthy. Lureen would have bitched at him all the next day 'bout it. Jack had along his travel radio, and they were slumped in the firelight, reflectin' off the snow in golden waves. Jack's belly and brain buzzed with contentment, and he leaned back an' hummed along with Dolly Parton to _The_ _House of the Rising Sun. _It was just like always.

But it was so fuckin' different. For starters, below the crackin' flames, slosh a whiskey, and dirge of Southern madam, was a wholly new sound-- the murmur of other people, other conversations, the crackling of other fires. Here and there a dog barked, or a child squealed with delight or cold. Through thick patches of bare trees, they caught sparkling window lights of other RVs. The park wasn't anywhere near crowded, and they were still isolated by any normal man's definition, but Jack's definition of isolated wasn't any normal man's. It was his and his alone, trained into him. And this was far from it.

An' that wasn't the only way it was different. They had weeks together and places to explore, a long day tomorrow whatever they decided to do with it.

Just the fact that they were here, that they were doin' somethin' new after so much time spent doin' somethin' old... He turned to Ennis, saw Ennis turn back to him, a sheen in that man's eyes. He wondered if there was a watery glaze to his own and thought it likely.

"Ain't as cold here as you might expect," Jack muttered quiet.

"Ain't cold at all," Ennis smiled back full-out. 'Cause it was true they were used to being naked in mountain air in fall and early spring, and here at a reasonable altitude, even in the middle a winter, wasn't like that at all. Or maybe it was the fire. Or the whiskey.

Ennis broke the silence again. "Well, I'm gettin' tired, gonna head back in." His eyes pierced Jack with meaning.

Jack frowned. "I can't say I'm feelin' too great. Just'... tired, you know?"

"That's alright. Come on in." Ennis rose to dump ash on the already-tuckerin' fire as he spoke.

They packed up in silence, puttin' the food in the fridge. Ennis washed up in the bathroom, then Jack went in an' did the same, brushed his teeth. They unfolded the futon for the first time and wrapped it in linens. By then, Jack was hesitant ta break the silence, ta jeopardize this in any way. Turnin' out the lights and locking up for the night, all in silence still, Jack crawled against the wall, under the covers. Ennis crawled in next to him.

In the mountains they always just wore their jeans 'n shirts, or slept naked once they'd shed 'em. Ennis was sleeping in loose-fitting pajama pants and a white T-shirt tonight. Jack was in a pair of cotton pants as well, but shirtless. Jack didn't know what Ennis usually wore to bed, an' he reckoned Ennis didn't know 'bout him, either. A shiver thrill sparked up his spine. It was still a new moon, but Jack reckoned he had somethin' brighter ta light up his nights.

They started slowly, Jack cursing his sore body and the double effects a painkillers and alcohol. He wasn't quite able to go at it full speed, but he didn't have ta say so, and he didn't care ta apologize since he didn't see how it was his own fault. Still, Ennis pulled him close. He could feel Ennis's own enthusiasm in more ways than one. Ennis was breathing inta Jack's neck, Jack imagining senseless words in that air.

Ennis was a hard man. He wasn't overly affectionate or open. He was a Cowboy like Johnny Cash's, and none a that was new to Jack. But neither was this. Anyone just seein' their relationship from the outside, like maybe Randall or Lureen, wouldn't have seen this, Ennis feather-soft. Jack thought heard a breath in the shape of the usual endearment, "little darlin," as he backed up against Ennis. Ennis's hand slipped around Jack and into his pants, even has he propped his head up to look into Jack's face.

"You always sleep with so much on, huh?"

"Well, and you're one ta talk." Jack pulled at the T-shirt.

Ennis indulged him and pulled it off. They didn't go much further than that. Jack had slept a drug-hazed and needful slumber against Ennis's clothed chest the night before, but turning Ennis over and laying his content mind against a familiar sprinkling of gray-blond hair undid him. He could have mapped out that hair in his sleep, and had, more than once, in his dreams. He knew the exact in-curve of Ennis's slight cave-chest, brushed a hand across well-known collar bone, and tried to remember which freckles Ennis were newer than Brokeback, which older. The steady heartbeat, more familiar to him than his own, was a lulled and peaceful place. The space between Jack's setting thoughts of the past, and rising dreams of the future, was only the forty-five seconds it took him to slip off to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9: Sons and Fathers

Characters come to me from Annie Proulx, and I don't profit from them.

Beta'd by Marakeshsparrow aka Jessymama.

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Chapter 9: Sons and Fathers Jack woke up to an empty bed and the smell of breakfast. Straining to sit up and twist towards the kitchen, he was greeted by Ennis's bashful smile over the counter. "You up? Got breakfast waiting." 

"Yeah, I can be." Jack's voice was creaky with early morning. He stumbled to the bathroom, not missing that Ennis's eyes followed his steps, and pissed about about eight gallons of last night's beer.

He came backed out of the bathroom and hit the kitchen bench seat hard while Ennis plopped a plate of toast and a bunless hot dog in front of him.

"The hell?"

"Need ta hit grocery store if yer wantin' decent food... What were you plannin' ta do, anyway, now that we're here."

"Hell, I dunno." Jack thought they should see downtown, but was a little hesitant ta run all the usual tourist-type areas past Ennis. He ate in silence, thinkin' about it. He'd picked up some pamphlets while Ennis was payin' at the shop last night. When his food was done, Jack stood ta go get them. Throwin' them down on the table, he asked, "what suits you?"

Ennis just shrugged, and Jack, needing a shower, decided they could cover that ground soon enough.

Ennis took the first shower after breakfast, though. He was usually a nighttime showerer. That was something Jack knew 'bout him since Brokeback for no particular reason 'cept they'd touched on it 'round the fire one night. Jack spent Ennis's shower time flipping through the travel brochures.

Before Jack hopped in the shower, a still-wet, fresh, n' delightfully temping Ennis, lookin' so young with his wet hair curlin' up, said he'd be right back an' disappeared out the RV door.

Ennis was back by the time Jack emerged, and he didn't bother askin' where Ennis had gone, figurin' a grown man deserved some privacy.

"Well?" Ennis glared at a shirtless Jack as Jack toweled his hair. But even as Ennis glowered, his gaze softened, turned to somethin' more along the lines of wonderment.

Jack stopped his toweling. "Well what?"

"I was jus' gonna ask..." Ennis was distracted. Jack followed Ennis's gaze to the white and pink moon-shaped scar that streaked horizontally across his side. "You already get them stitches out or somethin'?"

Jack poked the wound, a little swollen in places, but not lookin' red or anythin' bad his doc had warned him about. He'd had ta keep it dry for a week, but now he was back to normal activities, including ones he probably shouldn't be doin' just yet. His nurse'd sent him home with instructions not to do anything that made it hurt, including drivin' and sex, for two or three weeks. Well, he'd broke both those rules so far. They'd both been kind a painful, so he thought maybe he'd wait a bit longer ta repeat them.

"Nah," Jack started. "The stitches are on the inside, an' I guess they just dissolve or somethin'."

He looked back and Ennis, who was makin' a funny face, puffin' out his lower lip, and avoidin' Jack's gaze. His eyes kept flickerin' back to the cut, and he shifted from foot to foot. Technically he should have seen it before. It wasn't the first time Jack'd been shirtless in front of Ennis this trip. But he guessed it was the first time in the full light a day, with no other agenda.

"Hey, you alright?" Jack said it quiet. When Ennis got fearful, he sometimes struck out like a wild animal. Jack had ta attempt to calm him 'fore he got there, and Ennis's eyes were rapidly fillin' with somethin'.

Ennis nodded once, bitin' his lower lip.

Jack approached him, wrapped Ennis in his arms. They stayed like that for a minute, Jack feelin' Ennis's warm breath against his shoulder. Jack was shakin' a little bit. He couldn't say why just right now, but sometimes he did that, when emotions ran fever-pitch. Ennis knew all 'bout that, an' was grippin' his arms tight, like he was tryin' ta still the tremors. It's what the did for each other, both threatenin' ta rattle apart, now maybe mor'n ever, but both holdin' each other together in the ways they'd spent twenty years learnin' how. Jack wondered if the last twenty years were just God's way a preparin' them for this moment, but he threw out that idea 'cause it didn't make any sense. There'd been enough moments in those twenty years that were worth havin' for their own sake.

"So what d'ya think we should do today?" Jack knew it was the question Ennis probably had on his mind 'fore all a this started.

"You got somethin' planned?" Ennis's voice was only just above a murmur, but it was right next ta his ear, so he heard it ok.

"Well, up in the mountains not too far 'way from here they got this enormous copper mine. The brochure says you can see it from space. They had a picture of the mine vehicles, with tires on 'em-- so big I can't even say how big, Ennis. It's a strip mine so it's all on he surface-like. Sound interestin' ta you?" Jack had watched the flutter of Ennis's blond hair with his breath as he talked.

Ennis nodded against his shoulder. Jack figured it was probably an interesting enough place, and figured Ennis had probably been fearin' Jack wanted ta do somethin' queer, like take in a musical or whatever Ennis thought them boys did. Ennis did'n' need ta worry much 'bout that. Jack did wanna go downtown 'ventually, but he wasn't any different from the Jack Ennis had always known.

So they packed up some sandwiches for lunch, hopped in Ennis's truck, and drove to the Kennecott Copper Mine. There was an entrance fee of a couple a dollars, which Jack handed to Ennis from his wallet. They went into a building overlookin' the mine. Ennis just stared for a long time while Jack read the displays. When Jack was done he came up behind Ennis.

"They say you can see this thing from space?" Ennis sounded disbelieving.

"That's what they say."

"Guess they could lie. Not like we're gonna check."

Jack laughed. "Gotta wonder who sells them that enormous mine equipment."

"Mine equipment dealer, I reckon."

"No shit." Jack chuckled again.

"Lookit you, plannin' on switchin' careers? You too old for that." They were both stood still, starin' out over the mine, watchin' the workers bustlin' below. For those workers, this was just their daily bread, nothin' special. It made Jack think 'bout all the walks a life there was, all the professions, all the families waitin' for their paychecks. He looked at the men who were so small they weren't even ants, distinguishable only by the movin' of the equipment, and wondered whether any a them were queer. He bet there had ta be a lot a men down there, an' from what Jack knew, some had ta be battin' fer the other team, as the saying went. He wanted ta talk ta Ennis about it too, but he knew better. Wasn't safe here in public, but Ennis wasn't ready fer that kind a talk even in private.

So all Jack said was, "You better watch who you callin' old if I got anything you value."

Ennis turned then to give him a pointed glare, somewhere frozen on the line 'tween censure and mischief in the way only Ennis knew how ta do. Jack took the opportunity to show off his expensive caps, and was rewarding with what looked surprisingly ta him almost like a real, honest-to-god, full-on grin. Probably on account of their bein' no one else in the visitor center this particular day, but still.

"Come on," Jack punched him in the elbow. "Maybe we oughta get back in time ta hit a decent grocery store."

Ennis looked down at his feet and shuffled, nodding absently, and followed Jack back out ta the truck. _Not 'the' truck_, Jack thought. _Ennis's truck. The one he drove me in fer the first time not a few weeks 'go, back ta his place in a snowstorm. Now he's usin' it ta show me Utah, ta show me this impossibly big hole in the Earth, a hole you can see from space, just ta get what we need out of it._ Jack thought his heart might burst open as Ennis climbed in an' leaned over ta unlock his door. They ate the sandwiches in the truck before pullin' out.

After leavin' the mine, they stopped off at the grocery store not two miles from where they were stayin'. They got the essentials, Ennis pushin' a mostly-empty cart up an' down each aisle, Jack runnin' to and fro with a basket piled high.

Jack paid the grocery bill while Ennis disappeared ta peer at the ads board at the front of the store. Probably didn't want a be seen buyin' groceries with another man.

That night back at the trailer was pretty much the same as the one before, only this time they had fancy bratwurst instead a hot dogs, an' the air was a little bit chillier. Still, there was firelight and the crackle of strangers' voices. They sat in silence.

At one point, when the fire was burning low and Jack was stoking his arms instead, tryin' a quiet down the goose-flesh, not ready ta go in, not wanting ta be out, a little girl no more'n four came runnin' through followin' a red dog. She wasn't lookin' where she was goin', screamin' out after the dog, an' she was running smack towards the fire.

Ennis was up in a instant, scoopin' her up like so much rag doll. "You better watch out, little lady, or you'll get hurt." He settled her back on the ground and eased back inta the canvas chairs Jack'd brought, an upgrade from the plastic-on-aluminum he'd had up on the mountain, an' bought 'specially for this trip, splurgin' with money he didn't really have ta spend.

The little girl, dirty blond hair fallin' inta her eyes, leaned inta Ennis, against his knee, and said in that distracted way kids had, "My dog... his name is Rusty. An' he, an' he... he got off." She looked at Ennis like he had the answers to he unasked questions, like she was seeing him for the first time.

"Did he now?"

"Yes." She nodded her head emphatically, and pointed in the general direction the dog had gone.

Ennis reached out and adjusted the collar of her blue down coat, bringin' it closer over her chin. "Where's yer mama, little girl?"

She pointed back another direction and fixed gray eyes back on Ennis. Jack just watched in admiration, it seemin' like the little girl an' Ennis had known each other for forever.

Just then a tall, blond woman came trottin' over. There really wasn't no other word for the funny gate she was usin'. "Charlotte, you leave these nice men alone. You can't go around bothering people."

"Weren't no bother, ma'am." Ennis touched the brim of his hat. "She looks just like my youngest did when she was that age."

The woman grabbed at Charlotte's hand, but spared a smile for Ennis. "I'm really sorry."

"No problem," he repeated.

Jack felt awkward an' left out, so he voiced up. "Seems like ol' Rusty was up ta no good, an' lil' Charlotte here was tryin' a corral him." He flashed a sparklin' smile, the one reserved for ladies in his repertoire of top-sellin' smiles, and managed to fish a big one out of Charlotte's mom.

"That dog...," she laughed. "Well, thanks again." She grabbed Charlotte's hand and walked back in the direction she'd come from, hollerin' after her, "Rusty, Rustydog, get over here. Come here." The dog seemed ta obey, as it loped by not moments later.

Jack listened to the dyin' of the flames a moment longer, pullin' his own parka over his chin. "You must be a damn good father," he mused, mostly to himself, at the fire.

Ennis sighed an' said, "Maybe when the girls was little. But after... well, Alma an' I don't get 'long so well no more, an' I guess I stopped..." Ennis let his voice drift off.

"Well, you an' Alma didn't never get 'long so well as I recall."

Ennis flicked eyes over ta Jack, an' looked down at the whiskey bottle he was clutchin'. "She knows. After she told me that... well I guess she must a known fer a while." Ennis took a gulp of whiskey, maybe tryin' a burn up the words like that would burn up the knowledge, too. "Guess after that I stopped comin' by ta see the girls."

"But they still see you. After all, for Francine's birthday..." Jack's tried to paint his face with optimism.

Ennis smiled at him an' passed the whiskey bottle. "Hell, I dunno. Was easier when they were little. Charlotte's age."

Jack laughed deep. "You shittin' me Ennis. I had a four year old, too. Bobby can be a pain in the ass as a nearly-grown man, but ain't nothin' compared ta the pain in the ass he was at that age." Jack took a sip, letting the present slip for a moment into those memories of so-long-ago when hope was still a moving force under everything he had been.

Ennis was eyein' him. "Bet you was a good daddy."

"Nah," Jack shook his head. "Not unless your idea is of a good daddy is a parrot that repeats 'go ask you mama'."

"You an' Bobby... you do stuff together or anything?" Ennis was askin' with genuine interest.

Jack shook his head again, but answered, "Hell, we change tires an' power wash the deck. That what you mean?"

Ennis shot him a look, but Jack couldn't tell if it was the look was shiftin', or the flame-thrown shadows, because he couldn't fix on what Ennis's face was tryin' a say. Finally, when Ennis spoke it was quietly. "Well. You lot better than my daddy."

Jack raised the whiskey to his lips. "I'll drink ta that." It was barely loud enough for the whiskey ta hear, but Jack knew Ennis heard him, too.

Before he actually tipped the bottle, Jack paused, handed the whiskey back ta Ennis with a "Don't give that back ta me."

"Huh?" Ennis's confusion was natural, 'cause Jack was a heavy drinker. But he drank ta forget, ta try an' drown the present, bring back the warm glow of times past, times on the mountain mostly. Even on their trips together, Jack drank ta try and pretend that the trips weren't what they were. But in the here and now, he had nothin' ta forget, nothin' he would want ta forget. He wanted ta box up all these memories, crystal clear without a blurring haze around them.

The doctor made him give up smoking. Ennis made him give up Randall. There was no one left ta make him give up bein' a drunkard but him. Everyone else accepted that in him, expected it even, or at least, didn't expect no better.

Feelin' heavy of a sudden, cold, an' a little bit alone as Ennis took advantage of havin' the bottle to himself, Jack muttered somethin' 'bout it bein' cold as shit, and wandered back inside.

They'd done a lot today, walked a bit more than Jack was used to, and he was wiped out and in pain, so he took a painkiller, laid down on the bed, an' was sound asleep before he even heard Ennis come in.

The next day, Ennis seemed ta know Jack was tired out. He made breakfast, an' didn't ask where they were goin'. Jack folded the bed back to a couch and watched some a those talk shows on their little TV. Ennis grumbled about it the whole time, 'bout stayin' inside, 'bout havin' enough problems in his life he didn't need ta hear 'bout people sleepin' with their sisters or whatever.

"Well, don't it feel good ta know people got a more fucked up life than you?"

"Guess," Ennis muttered.

Jack wondered if they'd ever done one a these shows 'bout gay men, or maybe even gay men whose wives found out their secret 'bout their fishing trips. Maybe he an' Ennis didn't lead less fucked-up lives, just a differently-fucked-up, a different episode.

But if that were so, Jack imaged they could do an episode on just 'bout any person livin' on the face a the Earth. He wasn't very old, but he'd learned that if you started lookin' for insane people or fucked-up lives, you didn't never have ta look too far or hard. Jack guessed that kept a lot of shrinks in business.

After lunch, which Ennis made inside with the stove-- fried chicken, Jack was feelin' a lot better (with some thanks ta another painkiller), an' he decided they ought to drive downtown. Ennis didn't look overly thrilled with the decision, but he agreed.

It was still early enough, an' they parked right near the Utah capital dome. Jack insisted they go on inside there, even though he didn't really know why. Everyone else was doin' it. They didn't spend but ten minutes there 'fore they was walkin' 'round downtown. They found a library where the Mormons keep records on everyone. Jack was a bit anxious knowin' maybe the Mormons had information 'bout his family. He an' Ennis spent 'bout an' hour in there. Jack didn't know what Ennis'd got up to, 'but Jack'd mostly looked in files for the names of relatives, an' wasn't sure if he was disappointed or relieved that he couldn't find anything he didn't already know. 'Ventually he found Ennis lookin' bored as a dead dog, sittin' at a table by the front door, just watchin' people. Jack walked on by him and out the door. Ennis followed not fifteen feet behind.

"This city is boring as shit." Jack was itching for a smoke. He thought maybe he should get some gum or something.

"Reckon most cities are."

"Nah, there's got a be somethin' ta do here. Maybe we'll eat some dinner."

"Jack," Ennis's voice was low as he walked about two feet behind Jack, "don't think it's such a good idea fer two men ta go inta a restaurant together."

"Well shit, we don't got a go to a place fancy. We both wearin' jeans anyhow." Jack peered up the street. "There's a little Chinese hole-in-the-wall. How's that sound?"

Ennis grunted. "Don't think I'd like Chinese food much."

That stopped Jack right in his tracks. He turned to stare at Ennis, mouth-agape. "You never had Chinese food?"

Ennis just shuffled a bit, lookin' around the sidewalk. That little tidbit, though, had made up Jack's mind. They were goin' a have Chinese. Jack couldn't imagine not ever havin' had Chinese, as often as he and Lureen got it for take-out.

Just as they were gettin' to the restaurant, Jack noticed a pay phone on the sidewalk. Since he happened a be thinkin' 'bout Lureen just then, he told Ennis ta wait up a minute, and stepped up ta the pay phone, makin' it a collect call.

Bobby answered on the fourth ring. "Hello."

"Hey there Bobby. Your ma home?"

"Dad?"

"Yup."

"Nope, she's working late again."

"Alright."

"You alright?"

"Oh yeah, everythin's great. I'm callin' you from the streets of Salt Lake City." Jack tried to sound more enthusiastic about the city than he felt.

"Cool."

"You home alone then?"

"Uh. Yeah."

Jack breathed in and out once, trainin' his patience an' his hearin', 'cause he thought he heard a voice in the background. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I done my homework an' all."

"That's good... What's yer girlfriend's name again? Dawn, is it?"

"Yeah."

"She over there?" Jack tried not to sound judgmental, just conversant.

"... Yeah."

"Yeah. I thought so."

"We're just watchin' TV."

"Yeah. How old are you now?"

Bobby paused. "Seventeen."

"Bobby, I was a seventeen-year-old boy once, too, ya' know. Hell, I had more than one high school girlfriend 'fore I dropped out. 'Believe it or not, there was once a time when Jack Twist liked a pretty gal. So I know what kind a TV you and Dawn are up to. You got some sort a protection? 'Cause I am not old enough ta be a granddaddy."

The silence on he other end was so long and still that he wondered if the call'd been dropped.

"Bobby?"

"Dad."

"You hear me? You got some protection?"

Bobby's voice wavered when he responded. "I heard you."

"Well?"

"You... you..." Bobby's voice faded away, an' when he spoke again it was clearly with barely controlled emotion. "I hate you, you know that?" An' then the phone slammed down.

Jack stood there, holdin' on to the quiet receiver, tryin' a make sense a what just happened. Maybe Bobby didn't like his dad buttin' into his sex life. Maybe Bobby was annoyed at bein' caught, or maybe he'd wanted Jack ta get mad with him. Jack turned, shakin' his head as he left the phone behind him. Ennis was watching from the awning of the Chinese place, an' turned to go in when he saw Jack comin' towards him.

Suddenly, not quite totally clear of the pay phone, still replayin' the conversation to try an' figure out what went wrong, it hit Jack like a megaton atom bomb. _Believe it or not, there was once a time when Jack Twist liked a pretty gal._ "Fuck." The muttered swear word drew more than one alarmed stare from the upright denizens of Salt Lake City. He must be the stupidest fuck to ever live, if Bobby'd heard in his words what he'd meant by them. He didn't know if it was that, or maybe he'd just embarrassed Bobby with the 'protection' talk. He was still cursin' himself silently for whatever the cause as he approached the restaurant.

"What's wrong with you?" Ennis was waiting outside.

"Nothin'," Jack muttered. "Just exchanged words with Bobby."

Ennis clearly wasn't totally buyin' what Jack was sellin',

They stood on the sidewalk for a moment, Jack's temper and confusion both coolin' a bit. For a kid he claimed not ta care too much about, Bobby's matter-a-fact words had cut right down to his soul. Ennis looked confused as well, though for a different reason. Their breaths came in chilly puffs. Jack looked into the sky, seein' that it was startin' ta flurry a little bit, a snow with cold, but at least it was white all the same. He reached inta his pocket for his painkiller bottle and popped one in his mouth, swallowin' it without water, makin' the cold fade.

"I'm sure he don't mean nothin'," Ennis muttered in a heroic attempt to soothe Jack.

"Well, it don't stop my appetite. I am _not_ lettin' you off the hook on the Chinese food." Jack was itchin', achin', dyin' for a fuckin' cigarette, but instead he just went inta the restaurant and got them a table, his fingers workin' silently at his side as if he had a smoke anyway.

Jack ordered Szechuan Beef, though his came less spicy than he liked in Texas, an' he ordered Chicken Chow Mein for Ennis, with white rice, 'cause that was a safe dish, bland how Ennis liked things. Ennis seemed ta enjoy it too, 'cause he cleaned his good-size plate, while Jake had leftovers. That was highly unusual. Jack liked his food, if he was feelin' alright. Maybe the talk with Bobby had got to his appetite after all.

By the time they'd finished dinner, Jack'd just about convinced himself that maybe Bobby hadn't heard what he'd meant in that sentence. Maybe Bobby was just upset at havin' been called out about Dawn. Either way, he'd been reminded with a punch to the gut that it did matter to him what Bobby thought about his dad. Jack had accomplished precious little in his life. He got his job and his money by marryin' Lureen, though he was tellin' the truth when he claimed that's not why he'd married her. Hell, when they'd got married, they'd had some dreams about just savin' enough ta break out a Childress and makin' a name for themselves someplace else. Lureen was partial to San Antonio and its flowered walkways. But life usually had other ideas. First Bobby tied things up. Back then, they'd needed Fayette's help with the baby, an' money'd been scarce. Eventually, Lureen'd got so entrenched in her daddy's business, and Jack so far buried under a stack of hopelessness sky-high, that uprooting seemed like too much work to both of them.

Anyways, he had accomplished precious little. But even so, he'd got one little boy to actually look up to him. Daddies were heroes, the people who fix things and teach things and take care a you, an' they never have ta prove that. To not have Bobby's admiration... well, he didn't have a whole lot left after he lost that. Ennis. Ennis part-time. And maybe his ma.

They drove back to the trailer in silence. Ennis looked blank-faced. Jack excused himself an' walked to the little general store to use the pay phones out front.

Makin' it another collect call, he managed ta connect to Lureen this time.

"Hello?"

"Hey there."

"Hello Jack." She sounded cold, and he knew that Bobby'd told her somethin'. The silence was uncomfortable. Jack was waiting for a scolding. "How's your trip?"

Taken aback by the cordial words, Jack paused and sucked in a breath. "Yeah, good."

"That's good."

"I talked to Bobby earlier."

"I heard." After an awkward pause, he heard a familiar shuffle as Lureen stretched the phone cord, probably towards the kitchen ta be alone.

"I... I'm concerned over whether he an' Dawn--"

"Jack, why don't ya leave the parenting ta me 'round here?"

"Did you... I mean--"

"I been leaving them in his drawer for weeks."

Jack sucked in a breath. "How did you--"

"Jack. They're seventeen. They hardly have a thing in common. You ever heard them have a conversation? What did ya think they were doin' tagether?"

"Well damn."

The ensuing silence told Jack that Lureen wasn't gonna let him off the hook, an' she certainly wasn't goin' a deliver his news for him. He contained a shiver in the cold night air, an' cleared his throat. "I, um, might a accidentally said... somethin' ta Bobby."

"'Bout Dawn?" She was baitin' him, trying ta get him ta say more ta make him feel small. It was one of the things that made Lureen hard ta live with. Hell, if he hated anything about her, this was it.

His jaw muscle worked a bit before he bit it out. "Might of insinuated I wasn't too drawn to a pretty lady, if you catch my drift."

"Which lady?"

"Lureen..."

She sighed, a sign that she was still at least partly human. At least she used oxygen like one. "He an' I already talked about it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He might not be an ace student, but I guess he had his suspicions or somethin'. All the same, it's different ta know. I know that."

"And I know ya do--"

"Let me finish. He ain't too happy, but he's over it."

"That's good ta know."

"Yup."

Just like that, Jack knew how it would be. Bobby had his mama's ability ta jus' unknow anything that didn't fit in his little Texas world, an' this was just goin' a be one of those things. Like poverty, war, and world hunger, a queer man was just too far outside of Bobby's experience for Bobby ta grapple with. Jack understood that, as he hadn't been too unlike that himself when he wasn't much older'n Bobby. But Jack sought out experiences. People like Bobby an' Lureen needed more control over their lives than that.

He exchanged a few more terse pleasantries with his wife before biddin' her goodnight and returnin' to the person he loved.

Jack stumbled back, exhausted, through the cold night air to the trailer, just to find Ennis was in the shower. Jack was beat. Still, even if he laid down and drank a bottle of pills, he might not be sleepin' tonight. He peeled himself back off the couch and out the door. Rummaging into one of the storage areas under the RV, he found the big black case, and pulled it on inside.

Jack had never learned to play the guitar. What he learned on the harmonica he'd taught himself, an' that mostly consisted of suckin' an' blowin', which Jack had found he had a talent for in all kinds of arenas. But even so, he'd stole his daddy's abandoned guitar back in his rodeo days, kept it around in a closet. It was just a diversion. Jack moved fingers across the frets and imagined he knew what notes he was makin', moving his right hand across the strings, havin' learned by now that you're far less likely to sound like an idiot if you just pluck on string at a time.

When Ennis came out of the shower, fully dressed and wet-haired, the usual gloom on his face was immediately replaced with alarm, an' Jack smiled, strummin' hard across the strings. Whatever chord he'd struck sounded like terror, and Ennis cringed.

"Where you get that, huh?"

"This? It was my old man's. I don't know shit about playin' it."

"Yeah an' it shows. Give it here."

Jack watched as Ennis plunked down next to him, shower of fresh water flyin' off his grayin' hair. Ennis wrenched the guitar unceremoniously from Jack's hands. Eyin' it for a moment, he moved his fingers over the frets with a glimmer in his eye that resembled the one they held when he was inspecting his horses' fetlocks, like he knew had somethin' precious an' meaningful. Ennis moved his right hand experimentally, and coaxed a softly harmonious sound from what Jack had thought of as barely more than a piece of wood with some metal strings stretched across it.

Jack didn't move. He didn't hardly breath. Ennis wasn't lookin' anywhere but at the fingers of his left hand as they moved awkwardly over the strings. Still, Ennis's awkward strummin' was a million times more melodious than Jack could wrangle from the instrument. The song started slow at first, but picked up carefully until it was downright fast. Jack wasn't sure he'd ever seen Ennis's hands, or anything about Ennis, move so fast, but his hands raced over the strings. He was hummin' too, long, smooth notes that matched the fast chords. Jack was honestly too entranced ta even act entranced.

The last note held some sadness in its tone as it faded away. Jack gasped for air. Even if it hadn't been Ennis playin', it was still one of the most exhilarating tunes he'd ever heard on the guitar. The addition of Ennis's strong, calloused hands dropped the bottom out of that.

Ennis was still lookin' down at the instrument with a kind of funny look on his face that Jack recognized from more intimate times. Jack cleared his throat. "Didn't... didn't know you played."

Ennis shifted against the velveteen patchwork covered in sheets that was their bed, his leg brushing 'gainst Jack's. _Our bed._ "I. Uh. Little." The silences between words pounded in contrast to the fast chords of the moments before.

"Where'd you learn that?" Jack poured every ounce of tenderness into his voice, well aware that Ennis was lettin' Jack drink in somethin' more, drink from that deep, secret well of emotion that made Ennis tick. He laid a hand carefully on Ennis's forearm. "Ennis?"

"My, uh." Ennis cleared his throat, and Jack saw his eyes were shinin'. "My dad taught me."

"You play often?"

"Not... never in front a nobody. Haven't played in a long time."

Jack realized it in the mistiness of Ennis's eyes. All these years, an' he had never really thought to ask. He thought Ennis had been blinded by a man in a ditch, but the truth was, it was Jack himself who hadn't been able to see beyond that, who hadn't been able to see that Rich and Earl wasn't the point here.

Ennis loved his daddy.

Jack hated his old man. He had as early as he could remember, with that fiery burnin' kind a hate that his ma said sent men straight to hell. In a way, it had been freedom. Already goin' a hell, might as well make it a trip to remember.

But Ennis... Ennis held out hope, was holdin' out hope still maybe. He was the real deal. He might a started out as a sheep-herding fuck-up like Jack, but Ennis had made it. He was a real cowboy from the top of his weather-beat hat to the bottom of his holey-soled boots. He played the guitar in secret. He had two daughters and drove a Chevy. Some part of Ennis was still seekin' the approval of his father, just like Jack had needed Bobby's approval. And no part of that picture-perfect cowboy involved doin' a horizontal two-step with a man from Lightning Flat.

For once, being Ennis's private shame didn't make Jack angry. Ennis was dancin' between his daddy's approval and Jack's love. Jack would always be there, so maybe he took that for granted. Jack had done that exact same thing with Randall and Ennis. Seein' it all so clear now, though, Jack felt like he had never loved Ennis more.

He rested a firm hand on Ennis's shoulder. "Well. I bet your daddy would be awful proud of you." Jack was surprised to have said it. Maybe even more surprised to have meant it. After all, Ennis had beaten down a gay man, with his words and his fists and everything else he had. And for once, Jack didn't mean himself. Still, even above that, Ennis was the hardest worker Jack had ever met. He didn't know Ennis's daddy, but he knew the type, an' he bet that alone would a made the man proud. Probably that's why Ennis did it. There were lots of things 'bout Ennis worth bein' proud of, anyway, and if Ennis's dead daddy wasn't smart enough to see it, Jack couldn't help that.

Ennis just shook his head, pushed the guitar firmly into Jack's arms, and stood, forcing Jack's hand to drop empty to the couch.

"Gonna head on ta bed if it's all the same to you," Ennis muttered.

Jack nodded, and they closed up for the night. They lay down far apart, not touching for once. It felt right, though. Somehow, tonight, _not_ touching seemed to pull firm that thing that lay between them, made thick the empty spaces. It'd been an emotional one for Jack, and he slept better than he thought he would, wrapped in the knowledge that at the end of the day, both Bobby and Ennis had chosen him over what they wanted to want to choose. The words that had never been spoken to him directly wafted above him in the air, whispering daily that the people in his life moved to accommodate him. Even Lureen, Randall, his ma, everyone had shifted just a little bit, moved their stances, changed their viewpoints. Because Jack had been worth it to them. Being worth it to anyone was a brand new concept to Jack Twist, and here people had been making room for him in their spaces and their silences, the things not said, the conversations not had.

Since that day on the mountain, when Ennis had shifted his work ethic, his very sense of self, to warm up in a space next to Jack, a space for two men in a one-man bedroll. Those weeks up there, they hadn't talked about the sex, but they'd screamed volumes in their grunted silences. They'd known, somehow. And Ennis... Ennis had to abandon his very concept of salvation, his daddy's heavenly approval, to know that.

But Ennis'd known it every day since then, of that Jack didn't doubt.

_And he made that knowing place for me, because to him, I was worth it._


	10. Chapter 10: Where To Next?

**Disclaimer:** The characters do not belong to me and I make no money off of them.

**Warnings:** Character Illness, Cursing.  
**AN:** Thanks as always to marakeshsparrow (Jessymama on ), for making time in a busy schedule to beta. Honest and respectful feedback of any kind is welcomed.  
**Word Count:** 4354

Chapter 10: Where to Next?

Jack knew it was early when he woke up ta feel Ennis's warm skin 'gainst 'imself. They'd gone ta sleep apart, but woken up tangled up in each other. Seemed their unconsciouses had some kind a indecent notions 'bout the nature a their relationship. Jack smiled and turned to lay his cheek against the skin he had access to, not sure what body part it was. Crackin' open an eye, it looked like maybe an elbow.

They took the mornin' slowly an' together, makin' up for the distance of the night before. The days since Jack's surgery were growin' and he was feelin' healthy again in the bedroom department. He was healthier in other departments as well, havin' put on a pound or two livin' off good bratwurst.

Ennis made scrambled eggs an' afterwards they drove back inta the city at Jack's insistence, where they saw there was some kinda arts festival. Only when they were getting out a the truck did Jack realize it was kinda a queer thing ta do-- go to an arts festival. But it was a borin' ass city for grown men such as themselves, so he thought it sounded alright.

Enterin' the gates, it was clear that pretty much everyone in the city had come out. The festival filled quite a few blocks. There were some paintings, a stage with dancers, but they walked by them both without sparin' a glance. Jack, for his part, had his eye on the food aisles, even though he'd already eaten breakfast. Forcin' himself not ta head straight there, they took in some log carving an' some Native American dancin'. Then was lunch, an' Jack made an affair of it. The air was cold, an' the people were bundled up. In the afternoon, flurries began to fall, stackin' on top a the already fine white-- well, gray an' muddy, after all this foot traffic-- layer of snow coatin' the ground.

The sun set in the early afternoon, 'cause it was still winter. Everyone was drifting in the direction of a particularly large grandstand. Not wanting ta be left out, Jack headed that way too. Bein' crammed shoulder-to-shoulder with other bodies was alright with Jack because at least they blocked the wind, but somehow he an' Ennis got separated, an' they were crammed against other men a good five feet apart, which was a misfortune. Jack caught a mischievous smile alighting on his lips as he started ta think of the little things he could a done to harass Ennis if only they'd been pressed together in this crowd.

Anyways, the crowd was gatherin' ta hear a gigantic choir, men in suits n' women in dresses, sing Christmas songs. Jack had to admit their voices were some of the loveliest he ever heard, but then again, the most he heard was the little Southern Baptist church in Childress. That Childress choir'd got him prayin' alright-- prayin' the ninety-five-year-old blue-headed woman who thought she was singin' soprano wouldn't give herself a heart attack. He hadn't even thought 'bout how close Christmas was 'til just this moment. The banner on the stage read "The Mormon Tabernacle Choir."

One thing he did notice was that most of the men were bald, an' almost all the people were white. So these were Mormons, 'huh? His dad'd always made fun a Mormons. Jack was about ta do so in his own head, wonderin' if inbreedin' made them all bald or some shit, but stopped short. His dad made fun of a lot a kinds of people, an' he was one of those kinds. He pressed his lips together an' thought he ought to get ta know the Mormons 'fore he made fun a them, anyway.

So, when the concert was done, an' the crowd of onlookers filed out of the festival, goofy-happy looks on their faces, Jack shouldered up ta Ennis an' said, "what ya say we go have a look at that temple?"

"What temple?"

"The Mormon one."

Jack could have predicted the look he'd get, an' he got it alright, the one that implied Jack was batshit insane. But Jack also knew that Ennis realized this was his trip and Ennis wouldn't put up too much of a fight. They walked down the street, Jack leadin' a good twenty feet in front.

When they got in to the temple area, there were already a bunch a Christmas lights on the trees an' such outside. The official tour wasn't allowed into the temple, which was only for good Mormons. Jack imagined his father an' mother would a been less than pleased to know he was visiting what they considered the very core of ungodliness from which all ungodliness sprang, next to queer men a course. He glanced over at Ennis who, from the look on his face, was likewise imagining his mama rollin' in her grave.

The visit was short and unceremonious. They were allowed in one little building where the choir sometimes practiced. Apparently the choir was well-known. Havin' just heard them, that didn't surprise Jack too much. He ignored the tour guide an' looked around at the pink seat cushions and garish murals of angels hangin' over them big piano-things churches have. _Organs._ Jack stifled a decidedly inappropriate noise from his throat. He knew it just wasn't a good idea for him ta go too near a church.

Even it bein' a Mormon church, Ennis fixed him with a glare.

Finally, they left there an' headed for the truck. Jack was about as tired as he could be. He flopped into the worn brown leather without a cent of grace.

"Don't feel right goin' near no church with you," Ennis mumbled across the cab.

"Yeah, well..." Jack smiled back, "I know I ain't no angel, but--"

"Jack Twist, you the devil himself." The smile that crossed Ennis's face made Jack think Ennis had some proof of that in mind. Plus, damned if Ennis wasn't lookin' a little younger. The bratwurst seemed to be doin' him some good, too, 'cause his cheeks looks filled out, an' pink with winter cold in the shining night. A sliver of moon was chasin' the fading sunset glow westward.

Jack tried to let it slid. Sometimes, though, somethin' Jack saw in Ennis's eyes made those words he'd heard all them months ago rise up and sting like his old man's belt-- _it's 'cause a you I'm like this._

_You the devil himself._ They might as well have been the same words. It didn't matter that he knew it was said in jest.

'Cause he knew deep down Ennis thought Jack Twist was the devil. Jack Twist, who laid a trap, seduced Ennis, kept pure ol' Ennis del Mar under some kind a queer spell. 'Cause they all knew who was the queer around here. Jack fisted his hand around the door handle, knuckles white, cheeks startin' a flame. _It was a fuckin' joke. Drop it, Twist._

Besides, this was their time. It was their week in the mountains, except it was four weeks instead of the usual one. But Jack wasn't foolin' himself, and he knew it was just a little while, just a temporary time like all them others. They had a unspoken deal, which meant they didn't mess up their times together with fights an' bein' grouchy over a simple joke. Jack had already fucked with their last trip. It wouldn't be fair to go fuckin' over this one too, with Ennis bein' generous ta be here in the first place.

After all, it wasn't like they were tryin' a build somethin'. They hadn't made no plans for after this. The thought shot Jack through the heart, pierced his soul.

He had ta look away as they passed the sign to "Mountain Shadows", 'cause he saw that's the way things were. Hadn't nothing changed. Not really.

"Well, I would love ta convert you to my devilish ways, you know I would, but I am about dead on my feet." Jack had to make light at this point, or else things would get too heavy.

"You ain't on your feet."

"Well, I'm dead on my ass then." And it was true. 'Cause if Ennis made dinner, Jack wasn't aware. He was passed out in his clothes across their little bed within ten minutes of stumblin' back into the RV.

The next couple days in Salt Lake were low-key. They drove out into the mountains around the city, found a little place that rented horses, and went on a trail ride. The unfortunate thing 'bout that was that the barn owner insisted they had ta ride out with a guide. She was a teenage girl, not more'n sixteen, an' real quiet. Jack wondered if she reminded Ennis a one a his girls. Or maybe not. Jack had to face that fact that he didn't know shit about Ennis's girls.

Any rate, Ennis wasn't too pleased, seemed like. He kept his horse a good thirty feet behind Jack and the girl's. Jack knew why, though. He recalled Ennis's tendency to pull up beside him, knees brushing. Too many years of that made him ache for it now, even though he had better, with the RV and Chinese food and whatever else he wanted. That was still too hard to believe. But part of him was trained to yearn for a knee-brush.

Eventually, though, the girl seemed ta get bored. "Well, ya'll know what you're doin'. We're supposed ta head back now 'cause I give a lesson at two pm, but I don't see any harm if you want to ride around for another hour or two. Jus'-- there's yellow markers that mark the end of the property." She went on ta explain that they had two miles ta the south, 'bout ten ta the west, and more than they could ride in a couple hours to the north. The horse trails were pretty clearly marked-- not somethin' Jack an' Ennis were used to.

The girl rode off, and Jack an' Ennis sat in uncomfortable silence for a space a heartbeats. Jack looked up an' saw an eagle high up in the blue. They were gorgeous creatures, he thought: the way they splayed their tails, the power behind them. He was reminded a the feather he still kept tucked in his hat band. Ennis didn't like eagles much, so Jack didn't point it out, much as he wanted to share the sight.

The sun was shining fire from the untouched snow, an' Jack remembered how once, 'bout seven, maybe eight years ago, Ennis confessed that he didn't much like snow. To Jack, it made the world clean an' soft. And quiet-- like Ennis. But ta Ennis, they told of his own passage, and it was not a story Ennis liked ta hear. In this way, in maybe a lot a ways, Ennis was deeper than Jack, read more into things than the beauty Jack tended to see on the surface.

Ennis interrupted Jack's reverie by knickering to his horse to start west. They rode side-by-side but not touching, a silence between them.

When the flurries started, slowly at first, Ennis turned back. Jack followed like he always did, ridin' along even when he had the illusion of soarin'. Here he was, horses returned, back in the passenger seat of Ennis's truck, turnin' ta Ennis, asking "where to next?", and not talkin' about locations on a map.

Ennis was grimacing, maybe swallowing bitter pills of fear and doubt and snow flurries, so far from home. Jack wondered if Ennis felt homesick, if he'd ever been to Utah before, if, to Ennis, maybe everything felt like it was happenin' too fast. Everything-- all their changin' from years of not-changin'-- it even felt sudden to Jack. Could there be a too fast after twenty years? Apparently they'd discovered it, because the horses had reminded them, the soft cushion of years turning hard in the space of minutes.

After Jack asked his question, they didn't speak, fear a real thing between them, and Jack couldn't even guess its immediate cause. He was worried-- worried that he'd given up the knee-brushing for something that could only ever be a temporary thing. Maybe he'd made a bad trade.

By the time they got back that night, though, Jack was thinking otherwise. 'Cause Ennis' brooding, whatever its cause, had turned into a loneliness that had faded into a burning sexual need. They didn't make a fire, didn't have a proper dinner. Ennis went at Jack quickly, Jack's wound finally allowing such a thing without more than a stretching discomfort if he turned a certain way. And yet, despite the ardor Ennis displayed when he first turned his attentions upon Jack that night, Ennis ended up movin' slowly, stroking fiercely but without urgency. When Jack came, Ennis seemed to treasure the moment like he'd never been in this place before, maybe never would be again.

Jack realized he was in a fuckin' rotten-awful mood, though, 'cause he was pissed to see a treasuring, saving-up look on Ennis' face. It meant one a two things, or most likely both of 'em-- it meant that either Ennis thought Jack might not live forever (which was a fuckin' crock if Jack had anything ta do with it. Shit.), or Ennis was thinkin' what Jack was thinkin' 'bout this trip comin' to an end some day. Ennis wouldn't need to fuckin' save up sex memories, wouldn't need to treasure every moment between them, if he'd pull his head out of his ass long enough to see there was such a thing as livin' safe, even if you were queer.

Jack turned over, releasing his frustrations in a sigh. They were leavin' in the morning, and Jack had every intention of drivin' at least some a the next leg, so he might as well get some sleep. Maybe Ennis would notice his cold shoulder tonight, maybe not, but he guessed he didn't really care.

Jack woke up the next morning and worked in silence next to Ennis, packing up the RV.

It was about eight in the morning by the time they hit the road. Jack drove the first leg with such silent determination that not a word had been exchanged about it. In fact, none were exchanged all morning except for Ennis's muffled, "You want the last sausage?" and Jack's moody, "It's all yours."

Ennis studied the maps while Jack soared over asphalt through the Wendover Range. "You know 'cordin' to this map there's a lot of government stuff 'round here?"

"Oh yeah." Jack didn't even feign interest as he flew away from the rising sun.

"What's a matter with you, huh?" Ennis was soundin' pissy now. "You been silent all the time, since yesterday, an' I don't got a clue--"

"What're we doin' here, Ennis?" Jack found his own voice strangely dispassionate, detached in a way that frightened him.

"We're taking your goddamn trip, Jack! What you _think_ we're doin', huh?"

"Well I know that but thanks for remindin' me." Jack had an unpleasant sarcastic streak. So did Ennis. It could make for some nasty arguments.

"Shit, what you on about now?"

Jack was glad to use the road as an excuse not to meet Ennis's eyes. "I mean, what's going to happen when this is over? I'm just goin' a go back to Lureen, and you're goin' a go back to that craphole you call a home, and that'll just be that?"

"Not this again."

"Yes, this again, dammit."

"Hell, maybe we could just live out a this thing, never return it? No rent, huh? I guess we can just bum people for gas money? That what you got in mind?"

"Fuck you."

"Well what, huh? What do you want from me, Jack? What do you want from me that I can give you?"

Jack heard the frustration in Ennis' voice give way to desperation, and he realized-- not for the first time, though every time felt like the first time-- that what he wanted from Ennis was something Ennis genuinely believed himself unable ta give.

Jack exhaled, shifted in his seat, and exhaled again. Finally he was able to find his calm. "Yeah alright. I'm sorry." And he was. He really had no excuse for gettin' his hopes up any more. Ennis took care that Jack never had a real reason to hope, and Jack worried that sometimes Ennis was distant or mean intentionally just to prevent those questions, the questions Jack inevitably wanted to ask.

"Christ," Ennis muttered.

It was all they spoke for a few hundred miles, but it had diffused a situation, and Jack's thoughts were finally able to wander carefree through more fertile grounds. He watched the landscape with interest, but it never occurred to him ta chat about it, since he was so used to the silent hours alone on the road. They stopped for gas twice. Ennis never fell asleep, and Jack wondered whether that might be out a concern for him. Or maybe Ennis wasn't the nappin' kind. How the hell would he know anyway?

They stopped at a diner in a small town for lunch. Jack'd seen the little place off a the road a bit, and guessed Ennis would appreciate the break from fast food. They had little home-cooked barbecue meals: a pork sandwich for Jack, spare ribs for Ennis. The food was hearty and fillin' an' felt like home. When they got back to the RV, they switched positions, and Jack slept the slumber of a man with a satisfied belly.

He woke up again to see it was dark out, early evening by the dash clock. The sound that'd woke him was Ennis, swearing incoherently, and pulling the RV over to the side of the road. The texture of the tires on asphalt changed as they rode up the shoulder kickin' up road grit. Ennis was clamoring out in a minute, and Jack followed, stumblingly half awake, into the cool night. It was pretty chilly here, and Jack was glad he still has his coat on. It wasn't any warmer than Salt Lake.

Ennis peered under the hood with a flashlight. Jack guessed they'd had some RV trouble, but his brain was still coming-to. The road was flanked with towering evergreens. The first quarter moon was bright and almost directly overhead. If he could have blocked out the stream of foul words comin' from underneath the hood, it might have been the most beautiful place in the world. Maybe second most beautiful, 'cause somewhere else on this Earth, those other towering evergreens stood in their black cathedral, a shrine where Jack'd already made his alter. He loved this place for its resemblance to that one.

Shakin' himself back to the world around him, Jack peered under the hood next to Ennis. "'S a matter?"

"Alternator I guess."

"Well, ya ain't gonna be able to fix that here on the side a the road."

"Nope."

"We near any towns or anything?"

"Passed a place called Trucker 'bout twenty miles back."

Ennis stayed under the hood while Jack climbed back into the cab and unfolded a map. "You mean Truckee?"

"Yup, guess so," Ennis called back.

"Shit, that puts us 'bout twenty miles yet from the next town."

Ennis said something that might have been a curse word.

Jack climbed back out. "Well, alright. It's no big deal. We'll just take your truck back to Truckee, get a new alternator."

"Small town, doubt no auto place'll be open by the time we get there."

Jack sighed. "What 'bout the next town, Colfax?"

"Dunno."

"Well, we could just spend the night here an' head out to Truckee in the mornin'."

"Can't just park on the side a the road."

Jack didn't see why not, but Ennis clearly wasn't in the mood to be told he was wrong. "Alright." He rubbed his weary eyes, shifted his feet, and pointed one exasperated finger at his worse half. "I don't got not problem stayin' here. I'll stay, you head on out to Truckee an' see if you can' find a place by mornin'."

"Uh uh. Ain't gonna leave you here by the side a the road."

"Well _I_ can go to fuckin' Truckee then. You can stay with the RV."

"Yeah an' what if the truck breaks down or somethin'?"

"For Christsakes Ennis! What do you want? Those're our choices. We gotta pick one a them."

Ennis was muttering under his breath, back to poking the alternator like that shit was gonna help, when Jack's attention was arrested by a pair a white lights headed down the road in their direction. Jack stepped out into the black rivery night-road, reminded of his trip into Riverton just a few weeks ago via the kindness of a stranger. The car was pulling over 'fore Ennis even noticed it. As it neared, Jack watched Ennis crane his neck out from under the RV hood, a look Jack could have predicted written all over his cowboy's face: distrust.

The car pulled over and stopped but didn't shut off. A man stepped out of the driver's side. Jack couldn't see much of him by the low evening light, 'specially with the headlight beams blockin' out all else, casting unnatural white shadows into the pines. To those trees, the men on the road were transitory ants who didn't know shit about shit; they watched with indifference.

Comin' around the car, Jack saw the man was tall. "Ya'll havin' car trouble?"

Ennis had a flashlight, and in a gust a rudeness, pointed it at the man's face. The man balked, ducked his head, and threw up a hand.

Ennis called, "What's it to you?"

_Fuck, Ennis, he wants to help out with the RV. Why do you got a be such a dumbass?_ It took a lot of restraint for Jack to say, calmly, "Let the man be, Ennis. He just wants to give us a hand." Jack didn't look Ennis's way as Ennis lowered the beam, sure censure would be written in Ennis's gaze. Jack wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his temper under the force of Ennis's simmering, angry eyes.

The air grew tense as no one moved. It was about as awkward as could be, 'specially for somethin' that'd started out as such a simple situation. Jack's eyes were adjusting ta the new light level, an' the first thing he saw was the look of worry in the man's eyes when they rested on Ennis. Ennis was workin' his jaw, squarin' 'is shoulders, preparin' for a fight. _Dammit._

Then the man met Jack's eyes then. Their gazes held fer a second too long, and the realization hit Jack square in the chest, the reason the man was so on guard. It wasn't a trick he expected Ennis ta know, but queer men learned to see each other even in the bleak darkness of night.

He was tall, lanky, an' had an Adam's apple the size of a real apple. His pale skin looked ghostly in the headlights, and his hair would probably be red by daylight.

Jack smiled a roguish smile. Maybe some would call it flirting, but it just came natural to him in these moments of mutual recognition. He jutted out a hand. "Jack Twist."

"Adam Morley," the relieved-yet-reticent man took Jack's hand and shook it with firm, skinny fingers.

"This here's my friend Ennis. Don't mind him, he's just got a crawdad up his ass."

Ennis, disarmed by Jack's sudden friendliness, came around and shook the man's hand, shooting Jack a look that said Ennis knew that something had gone over his head.

"Looks like we lost our alternator here," Jack said.

"Well, I'm guessing most places are closed by this time."

Jack felt Ennis's eyes boring I-told-you-so's into the side of his skull. "Yeah, we guessed as much," he responded.

"Well... you seem like nice enough people. I have a ranch about ten miles north of here. Your truck runs?" He eyed the pickup on the dolly.

"If you call what it does runnin'," Jack laughed.

Ennis glowered.

Adam chuckled. "Alright. We could put some warning signs up around this monster, and you could follow me back. We've got a guest bedroom. Tomorrow we'll find you an alternator."

Jack didn't miss the we, or that bedroom had been singular. His salesman years let him read between all kinds a lines. For once, he was glad the man had assumed he an' Ennis were a couple. Most people took one look at Ennis and figured he was straight as a bow-hunting arrow. Jack didn't have the energy to explain, not even to a gay man, so he was happy to be spared that. And he was rather eager to meet the other half of this man's "we."

Ennis reluctantly agreed, probably 'cause he had no choice. He an' Jack grabbed their crap from the RV, locked up, and threw the bags in the back of the truck. Jack took the driver seat without a word and backed 'er carefully off the dolly. They followed Adam's car through the California night.

Their truck took easily to first the sloping barrows, and eventually the more jagged switchbacks, of the foothills. But as they rose up towards the mountains, towards the dark night, so did Jack's anxiety rise up from his stomach. There'd never been another person as close to this thing as Adam was about ta be. Jack cracked a window, but even the sharp, high-altitude air could not bring back the smell of mountain shadows and times past. Something was finally changing irrevocably, and Jack didn't know if he was terrified or thrilled, but reckoned it was some of both: that sweeping, bone-thudding sensation he'd got the night he'd placed Ennis's hand on his cock, knowing that no matter what happened from here, nothing would ever be the same again.


End file.
